Lockwood and Co: The Agent, The Ghost And The Wardrobe
by Average Addict
Summary: Ghosts and Agents never stop, even for the Holidays. And Lucy has bigger Problems than gifts and Christmas shopping (not that she's had to worry about that before either). She's always been able to count on her friends for support but while Lockwood and George are still furious at her, she just might find herself going up against this Visitor and its haunting curse alone.
1. The Agent: Sea Of Fire

**The Agent, The Ghost And The Wardrob**e

I: The Agent

Chapter 1

"You idiots! I said, duck!" Thank God they listened this time.

Lockwood dropped to the ground as soon as he saw a vase headed straight for his face. George tripped on an old curtain and fell face first to the ground, only narrowly avoiding the crash of violin cases.

I nearly let out a sigh when-big mistake-I turned around and felt the full impact of a mahogany table crash into my stomach. I spat out a curse and tried to pry it away. But the winds were too strong and the table kept squishing me closer to the wall.

My body was on fire; I could feel my stomach splitting in two.

"George!" I gasped. "A little help over here." But he was busy checking the old wardrobe by the wall. It seemed to be the only thing that didn't move with the wind. It had to be the Source of this Type Two we were facing.

"Just hang on for a sec." He replied with an edge to his voice. I could barely hear him with the rushing wind.

Where was Lockwood? Oh for God's sake. He was deflecting the flying household objects.

Plan F: Acting as the shield so another comrade could work on the Problem. Lockwood looked like he was the very eye of the storm, his rapier swishing and cutting through the air. He had that undeniable glint of excitement in his eyes.

At least one of us was enjoying this.

"Jesus." With one final breath, I pushed the extremely overweight table off. I took a deep breath of the cool musty air and went to join the fight.

"All right there, Lucy?" Lockwood asked, never taking his eyes off of the incoming objects.

"Limbs still intact. That table felt about ten times heavier than George." I sighed. "Hey!" I heard George protest and despite the situation, a smile crept onto my face.

"Get down!" Lockwood followed and I blocked a brass trumpet that came our way. "Thanks." He gasped.

"Bloody Hell. I hope they've forgotten how to play these things." I commented on the lifeless looking trumpet. The poor thing had a dent on its side.

"Yeah. And look out." Lockwood jumped at my back tearing a tambourine to shreds. "Thanks." I gulped. He simply winked and continued.

"George! Pick up the pace." I screamed into the wind, fending off a not-so-friendly attack of wind chimes.

George was muttering to himself, taking readings and trying to get to the Source. The wardrobe remained shut and no matter how many times we tried, we couldn't get it to open.

"_Don't you dare set this on fire. I will have your hides if I find so much as a scratch on it." _Mrs. Miller's words washed over me as I heard a screech that made me cringe. I looked over to the wardrobe and saw a big gash across the door's frame. The old flute that clattered to the ground.

Sorry about that Mrs. Miller.

Several agonizing minutes passed and no improvement came. "Any time now, George!" But all I got was a frustrated growl.

"I don't get it. We've spread out enough iron around the wardrobe! Why isn't it dying out?"

I wiped the sweat away from my eyes. I was getting tired. Despite the frigid temperature, I could feel my body heating up. Lockwood seemed to be slowing down as well. We wouldn't last another ten minutes at this rate.

I needed to think of something fast.

I guess the feeling I got was wrong...

The obvious fact was that the wardrobe didn't seem to be the Source. I scanned the room using both my inner and outer senses.

My skin started tingling as soon as we stepped in the attic where the Visitor was last seen. All I could hear now was the loud wind in my ears and a faint drumbeat echoing.

There was a death-glow here, according to Lockwood. I tried using my Sight but it was not as good as his so nothing came. Finally, my eyes rested on an old looking music box. Apart from the wardrobe, that one stood as stiff as the Big Ben. How could I miss that?

I grabbed Lockwood's salt-bomb from his belt.

"What is it, Lucy?" But Lockwood's voice was lost with the blood pumping in my ears.

I was close enough. And the salt-bomb went sailing straight for the music box. Iron and salt scattered around it. I drew in close and covered it in my iron net.

All at once, the wind died down and a single scream pierced through the air. The misty form of a young woman burned brightly and faded all together.

I don't remember how I got to the floor, but I felt Lockwood's arms bringing me to my feet. Everything was a spinning around. All I could do was look around and take the scene in.

George had his hands in his ear and looked just as dazed as I felt with just a hint of annoyance (which I knew was directed at me). Lockwood had that infamous lopsided grin on his face and all I could was weakly grin back.

Everything ached.

The world was still screaming in my ear and I could only nod to say I understood what Lockwood and George were saying. I had gone temporarily deaf. And if you look closely at their lips, you could understand what they were saying. I had become a master lip-reader overnight.

I chuckled weakly.

George had the music box in a silver case and stashed it in his pack, Lockwood had mine and his. My rapier was in his hands as well. Their hair and coats had dust and pieces of wood. I could guess there were a hundred tears and rips on my skirt and coat. Just my luck. At least the job was done.

So I thought.

I can't recall what I said, but it's what I did that mattered.

I put all my weight into that one shove and next thing I knew, Lockwood was scrambling to get off of George. The corridor was narrow and crowded with Lockwood and George's bodies.

"What the hell, Lucy!" George let out a gasp. I could make out the duffels that held the Visitor in it. _At least that Ghost is over with._

I let out a sigh and flashed them a grim smile. Lockwood locked his eyes on mine and I could tell he knew exactly what was going to happen.

"NO!"

But the door was already shut tight.

My hearing finally returned and I could feel that tingling sensation once more. The gust of wind returned but it wasn't the same as the spirit of the Visitor we trapped earlier. I could feel it.

_Okay. Keep it together, Lucy._ A mental pep talk was what I needed. I only vaguely heard Lockwood and George's useless attempts to open the door.

_So what do you have? _My rapier was on the other side of this door. Offense wasn't looking so good.

I checked my belt. A chain? At least I could defend myself. That was an upside.

A box of matches and a small candle stub was all I had left. It wasn't much. It wasn't Greek fire. But it would do.

And I turned to face the Ghost that trapped me in.

* * *

If you listened closely enough, you could hear the faint sounds that told me if there was a Visitor nearby.

It could be anything. A soft repeated tapping, a whimper or a cry for help. Anything at all. But this one didn't say a thing.

Minutes that seemed like hours passed and he hasn't moved. How did I know it was a he? I could faintly make out the outline of his clothes. Now, my Sight isn't as good as Lockwood's but I knew that he must've been about my age when he died.

Lockwood and George were trying to get in. I could feel the vibrations of their thumping but their voices didn't reach my ears.

Another lapse of silence, and I finally collapsed. Despite the weak feeling, I managed to set up the chain and I finally let out an exhausted breath. I didn't notice the wind suddenly stop. Oh, look at that, I could hear again.

These iron chains would hold out any Visitors; it was a line of defense. For some reason, it seemed that iron had an effect against Visitors. Fifty years ago, nobody would've had to worry about Ghosts and Sources and stuff like that. You would've thought it odd to see iron and lavender decorating every inch of a normal person's home. These days, it was about as normal as seeing the clouds that covered London everyday.

I leaned back, letting the intricate carvings of the door push against my skin.

The attic room was a complete mess. I hope that Mrs. Millers can get this cleaned out by tomorrow. But the dial on my wrist told me it was just an hour past midnight, so technically she would get the room cleaned out later.

The dust was finally catching up to me and I belted out a loud sneeze.

George's muffled voice finally made it to my ears, "How are you holding up, Lucy?" My eyes fluttered open.

"You guys didn't leave me?" My voice came out as a sort of whimper. I knew the door wouldn't open no matter what I did.

George shifted a bit and something heavy thudded on the carpeted corridor. "Why would we? So we could come back tomorrow to find your dead body in there? No thanks."

"Lucy. Is that you?" I could hear Lockwood frantically trying to pry the door apart. "Don't try, Lockwood. We don't have to damage Mrs. Miller's property." I sighed.

"We're not leaving until we get you out. That was a stupid move." I could hear his muttering through the door.

"What? I just saved your arses from getting trapped in-" I started protesting. "Instead you got your own arse in there without your rapier." George interrupted.

I fell silent. What did they want me to do? A couple more tries and Lockwood let out a frustrated sigh. George told me to wait while they try to break the window from outside.

"Okay. Not like I have anywhere else to be." I sank back down, and curled up with my little candle stub in front of me.

When I opened my eyes, ten minutes have passed: they haven't returned. And I found a new friend.

This Visitor wasn't hostile. In fact, I had forgotten there was even a Visitor here (other than the one we've already settled). He was huddled exactly where his toes (if he had any) touched the chains. He was staring at me intently like I was the strange ghost and not him.

"Hello." My voice came out like a croak.

I had no idea why I even greeted him. Well it wasn't exactly advised not to talk to ghosts in the _Fittes' Manual to Ghost-Hunting. _And everyone had the general idea that Visitor weren't exactly rainbows and unicorns. But... I didn't feel anything cruel from this one.

He inclined his head towards me. _Hello. _I supposed.

"Are you cold? Do you want to get closer to the light?" I asked him. _Jesus Christ! _What was I asking a _Ghost_ if he was cold, for? Ghosts were eternally cold!

Nevertheless, the ghost floated closer to the flame.

I stared at the fire and was lost in its swaying and enchanting pattern

"_Are you cold?" _I could hear an echo of my voice, only this time it sounded like it came from him.

If any initial shock came to me, it didn't last. "I'm alright. Just tired."

I yawned and remembered I was still on a case. How would it look if Lockwood found me sleeping on the job? George would probably taunt me for a whole month.

"_Just tired?"_ It asked me. I nodded lazily. Through bleary eyes, I could make out his orange outline moving closer to me.

_Huh? Weird. Ghosts can't cross the boundary..._

And with that, the world blacked out.

•

•

•

•

_I dreamt I was fire..._

I don't know about that voice, but they didn't know crap: My bones were the ones on fire.

I groggily sat up and it took a minute but my eyes and the dizziness in my head cleared. There was a strange sound in my ears, which I quickly figured was a high-pitched beeping of a monitor. There was a needle sticking in my arm and I moved to pull it out. The sharp sensation quickly left my body and my head suddenly felt lighter and heavier at the same time.

The voices were muffled by the doors and wall. Even with the state I was in, it wasn't hard to tell I was in a hospital.

"Lockwood! George?"

My mouth tasted like lead. Like I was speaking with cotton in my mouth. Using the stand thingy that had a plastic bag hanging from it, I took small steps to the door. Each part of my body aching more than it did the last time.

I called their names one last time. Just as I was about to fall, I felt two pairs of hands holding on to me. "About bleeding time." I managed a weak smile, which they didn't return.

A distraught looking Mrs. Miller was standing beside a doctor by the doorway.

* * *

A minute later I sat on the couch in the corridor. I thanked the nurse for a blanket and once she turned the corner, Lockwood's words echoed infinitely down the hallway. Right now, all I could look at were my fingers and the plastic hospital gown I was dressed in.

All I heard were the usual things I already told myself before Lockwood even mentioned it: _You should've thought things through, you idiot. Why didn't you tell them about the strange feeling? They would've listened. Incredibly professional of you, Lucy._

"Do you know how much trouble you caused? Lucy! You could've told us there was a Visitor instead of shoving us out to the corridor like that.

"Yeah but it was happening too fast!"

"You weren't thinking things through! And you didn't have your rapier with you."

"I had my chains." I still couldn't bring myself to look at him.

"And what would you have done if you didn't? What if you were Ghost-touched? We would be in the hospital bed right this second mourning over your cold dead body!"

"But I _wasn't_ ghost-touched! I'm _perfectly_ fine." I said with a glare that shrunk as soon as I saw Lockwood's expression.

George was talking to the Doctor and settling things with Mrs. Miller. She glared at me but not as bad as the glare Lockwood was giving me. I glared right back at her and she retreated down the opposite direction. But the small triumph wasn't as satisfying as I thought.

"Are you really?" Lockwood asked quietly and I found my lap ten times more interesting than this conversation we were having.

"Do you know that when we saw the room, there were only flames burning from out the window?" My head shot up and I heard the faint voice at the back of my mind.

_I was fire..._

"What?"

"You know _what_. It was a miracle we even got you out in time." Lockwood sighed and sat down on the chair directly opposite to me.

"We found you sleep walking into the wardrobe." "Sleep walking?!" "There was fire everywhere; nobody could've survived that much smoke."

I nodded, it was usually the smoke that killed you first. After you've survived the burning fire and hot air, that is.

"We thought you were dead." His face was hidden in a shadow and his voice so soft I could barely make out his voice.

A few minutes passed.

"Mrs. Miller forgot that there was a drug in the room. The more confined you were, the more sleepy you became." I let out a sigh of relief. Wrong move. Lockwood's head jerked up.

"You weren't supposed to be sleeping on the job!"

I responded, "I know! I'm sorry." I closed my eyes and clenched my fists. Lockwood let out a deep sigh and George walked over. "It seems that Mrs. Miller didn't know about it. She's willing to overlook the fire if we don't mention the drugs to the media."

My head shot up and I smiled, "Great." But George had his own special death glare for me.

Tension gripped the air like a Visitor holding on to its Source. I wouldn't cry. Not this time.

I was right and they knew it. If anyone of us had to be burnt in a fire, it should be me. At least that way, Lockwood and George could still run the company. If all three of us had been locked up, they might've burned with me.

"You know I was right." I whispered. But nobody heard me.

Lockwood got up and everything was set back in motion.

"Come on." He said without looking at me. "We're leaving."


	2. The Agent: Ghost Boy

**The Agent, The Ghost And The Wardrobe**

I: The Agent

Chapter 2

_It was a new feeling._

I met someone in my dreams. She didn't look at all frightened to see me. In fact, it was as if she was expecting it.

The moon illuminated the dark and wooden attic. Everything was a complete mess. I looked around seeing all sorts of instruments either in pieces or scratches on their gold and silver. This was definitely a different kind of dream.

Well take the girl in the semi circle huddled by the door for example.

Okay, there were always people in my dreams. And it wasn't the first time I've seen a girl. Only, she made my heart skip a beat (which, I can tell you, isn't a very good thing for me). I almost started coughing when I realized that I was still in my dream. There were no restraints here.

I took another daring step and moved closer to the circle. It looked like a metal chain. And I knew if I touched it, I would disappear. Strange.. How did I know that?

Her voice snapped me back to the dream reality.

"Hello," She was still leaning against the door. Her short hair was covered in dust.

I looked at her closely. In the candle's flame, the girl's eyes looked like they were drowning in amber. She looked like the kind of girl who rolls her eyes if you made a mistake. Or the kind of girl who loves to laugh and joke around. Her clothes were ripped and her arm was cut. If she minded her wounds or my company she sure didn't show it.

_One word would've done it, _I thought. _Beautiful._

"Are you cold?" She croaked. "Do you want to get closer to the light?" Her voice was clearer this time.

I was happy that she talked to me. My body drew in closer to the circle. But the smile on my face disappeared. The girl had her eyes fixed on the fire. Her lips were turning blue.

"_Are you cold?"_ This was her voice. I knew it was (her lips didn't move). It was her echo. Meaning it was my words.

For a brief second, I could see a tired smile flash across her face. "I'm alright. Just tired."

I felt sad. _"Just tired?" _Another echo came. I asked her. All she could do was nod and she fell to the wooden floor.

* * *

I was panicking.

She knocked the small candle and the wooden floor quickly caught on fire like how water easily fills a glass.

All I knew was that I had to get this girl to safety. But every time I tried grabbing on to her, my hands shot right past like I was aiming very badly. It was frustrating.

_1.. 2.. 3.._

It was important to keep a clear head when facing a deadly situation. So I took a deep breath.

_4.._

Then I remembered how the wind would carry the leaf to the window by my bed. I felt my body becoming lighter. The winds held on to the girl while flames tried to lick her body. I shielded her with my form.

_5.. 6.._

It was no easy task controlling the wind. We floated to the corner of the wardrobe. It was the only place that didn't seem to be attracted to the fire.

_7.. 8.. 9.._

I quickly formulated a plan. _I would stay with her until the flare would signal someone to call for help. Then I would follow her to know if she's safe._

_10.. 11.. 12.._

The wind carried her.

The outside of the wardrobe seemed to be carved with the hands of a master. This piece was definitely antique. And familiar. But this was no time to follow my trail of thoughts.

A body length mirror hung on the inside. It was cracked and there were shards of it on the wardrobe's bottom. She could get cuts and bruises but what choice did we have?

_13.. 14.. Almost there..._

Just as we were about to enter the ancient wardrobe I heard a yell.

"LUCY!" Two boys charged through the door.

"Lucy!"

They looked to be about my age. There was a tall boy with a wicked looking sword in his hands. And a sort of pudgy one with a small pair of spectacles falling from his nose. Both looked to be in a similar disheveled state as Lucy.

Despite the situation, I couldn't help but smile.

_Lucy!_ The name suited her.

The winds died down and something fell to the ground. I bent down to pick Lucy's unconscious body but something cold cut through my body and my form dispersed.

•

•

•

•

_I was as light as a feather._

_I was as free as the wind._

_I dreamt I was fire..._

There was that constant beeping of the machines and the strong smell of alcohol that never seemed to leave Rick Jonathan.

He'd just finished scribbling on his tattered leather notebook and he leaned back on his reclined squeaky bed.

Rick let out a sigh and pinched the bridge of his nose. He tried falling asleep again to see if Lucy was safe but he knew better. None of his dreams took him to the same place twice. And that's all they were. Dreams.

He pressed his cold palms to his burning face.

_If they were all dreams, why did I feel so anxious?_

His private room was separated from the rest of the wards. It had a small television by the corner, silently playing an old cartoon. There was nothing out of place. Nothing felt odd. But he knew he was missing something today and he had no idea what it was.

A knock from the door shook him out of his thoughts.

"Good morning, Rick!" The nurse greeted him with her familiar Scottish accent.

"Good morning, Charlie. You can call me Jon. Everybody does." He watched his nurse open the curtains letting the warm sunlight stream through the windows.

She laughed, "Sorry, _Jon." _She said with her tongue sticking out. Jon laughed with her immediately feeling better. Charlie was a cool college intern. Unlike those grumpy looking nurses who had permanent frowns etched on their faces.

"You have a visitor today," She systematically checked his blood pressure, the IV bag that hung from Jon's bed and all other vital signs.

"Who?" Jon asked. "Hold out your arm." She held a needle in her hand. He was used to this daily routine, he didn't even flinch when the needle was injected. Jon tried getting her to tell him but all she did was wink.

Charlie held out a cotton ball, "Press here." Jon obeyed and she put a small bandage on his arm.

"Charlie," Jon began protesting but was shushed. Charlie was silent with her eyes closed and Jon knew what was coming. Her green eyes fluttered open and whispered, "She comes."

Right on cue, Emma came bursting through the doors and tackled Jon with a big hug. "Happy Birthday, Jon!" Charlie grinned and began making her way out of the room.

Jon didn't have enough time to brace himself and winced when she touched the sensitive part of his stomach.

"Good morning to you too, Emma." She looked up to him with her dark brown eyes and features that mirrored Jon's. Emma pouted and continued, "Come on, Jon! Why are you still in your hospital dress?"

Jon let out a tired sigh and said, "For the last time, Emma. These aren't dresses." She wasn't listening. She hopped over to his bedside where she placed a small brightly colored box on top of his notebook.

"We have to go soon if we want to make it to the parade! Especially with all the things we have planned today." She smiled mischievously.

Jon, who knew his sister all too well, didn't try to protest.

It was hard sneaking out of the hospital unnoticed. Especially when everyone knew the son and daughter of the company's owner. But Rick and Emma Jonathan managed. And twenty minutes later, they were on the tube making their way to the London Eye.

* * *

It was bloody cold outside.

"George d'you think you could've grabbed me a thicker coat?" I said through chattering teeth. But the overstuffed blondie just shrugged his shoulders.

Lockwood and George walked side-by-side along the crowded streets of London. Christmas was just around every corner we passed. Each street lined with more and more stands selling warm drinks and tin toys. It was too surreal.

Give me a break. It's my first Christmas in the city.

Sure, we've had markets and festivals back at my old village. But none as grand as this. I think it was too much to take in and I almost lost Lockwood and George in the crowd. I heard someone call my name and found them standing beside a cart selling popcorn.

"Here," Lockwood took his coat off and I did the same. Lockwood's heavy coat was warm, oddly comforting and several sizes too big.

George snorted as he continued munching on a caramel popcorn. I held back the urge to smack the back of his fat head.

"It's your fault for forgetting about my coat." I said through clenched teeth. About three-quarters of my legs were exposed to the biting wind. Geez, we couldn't even stop by 35 Portland Row for a change of clothes. Instead, I got the clothes still covered with dust and scratches.

"Why are we here, anyway?" I asked, finally plucking up the courage to make conversation. The two seemed to have calmed down. Well, they didn't look like they wanted to punch a hole through the wall.

George replied, "We're out Christmas shopping."

There was something exciting about spending my first Christmas as a member of Lockwood and Co. My face broke into a grin. Lockwood and George (yes, even George) caught onto my excitement and we were laughing and talking like old friends as we made our way down the endless rows of shops and stands.

* * *

Jon was being pulled around in swerving and jerking motions all across the market square. He couldn't stop to catch his breath until Emma would push him to the next store. For a ten year old, Emma sure knows how to shop.

As a kid, Jon never understood the phrase _shop 'till you drop_. He did now.

It was finally one in the afternoon and they've been to sixteen different stores, tried four different kinds of ice cream, rode the London Eye and walked around for two hours straight. Jon was more exhausted then he's ever been in his entire life and he loved every second of it.

"-so Mommy was telling me about the Problem at the old cottage where we used to stay as kids." Emma continued happily licking her ice cream cone while Jon contently watched a ferry lazily floating on the River Thames.

"They found a body this morning. Some villagers said they saw a fire in the attic. But when they came the next day, there wasn't any sign of a fire." Emma talked about it like she was discussing the weather forecast.

"Jon! Are you listening?" Emma poked Jon's arms and he was looked around confusedly. He was wondered how he got to this cold bench next to his sister on his birthday.

"I'm sorry, Emma." He smiled. "It's just that.. I feel so happy."

There's one thing about Jon's smiles, it made just about anyone melt upon contact. He had a kind glint in his eyes unlike the other fake smiles people get everyday. This was real. With a kind of deep sadness as well. When you go to sleep thinking that you might never wake up the next day, you'd learn to cherish life the way most people wouldn't.

"I thought I would spend another birthday on my hospital bed waiting for news about my condition again." He said with a grim smile. "I overheard Charlie talking to the Doctor last night. They said that even if they found the equipment to remove the glass shard in my vein, there was a 50-50 chance I might not make it." The pair fell silent as the world continued buzzing around them.

_This is so unfair. _Emma thought. Why did her kind big brother have to spend his life in the hospital bed when he could have a normal life like anyone? Finally, the silence was just too much for her.

"Honestly," She punched Jon's arm. "No negative thoughts. It's your birthday! You should be enjoying this." Jon just smiled and rubbed his sore arm.

"Thank you, Emma." Emma gave a satisfied grin.

"No time to waste," Emma was bouncing with excitement.

"Hurry, Jon! We have to see the street parade, next." Jon was about to ask her to slow down but his voice was drowned with the city. Loud music started playing on the speakers and Emma dashed to get a good view of the street.

He thought he saw Emma in her bright blue dress and he put his hand on the girl's shoulder. "Emma! Don't just run off like that." But the girl turned around. She had big blue eyes and freckles sprayed across her face.

"Excusez-moi?" Jon kept apologizing while the girl continued her ranting in rapid French. He slowly moved back until the girl was just another voice in the crowd.

* * *

"Lockwood! You were supposed to keep an eye on her." George was fuming.

"I was! I had an eye on her and another on a book I think she might like." Lockwood replied back, straining to make his voice heard over the blaring music.

George grumbled, "Well great. Now we have to find her _and _a gift. Lockwood simply smiled and slung his arm around his neck, "Come now, George. Look at the bright side."

George waited several beats before asking, "Which would be..." Lockwood's grin turned into a nervous smile and he coughed.

"Excuse me?" They both turned their heads to the sound of the female voice. "Lucy where were-" Lockwood began but caught himself when he was face-to-face with a little brunette girl.

"-you?" Lockwood coughed again and smiled. "I'm sorry little girl, I thought you were a friend."

George was getting impatient. "C'mon Lockwood, we have no time to chat with kids. We have to look for the biggest kid I've ever met." George began to walk away. "Imagine running after that old man just because he was wearing a Santa costume. Honestly," He kept muttering. "Now we don't even know where she is. I bet when we find her she'll be playing with the tin toys or drinking hot chocolate on top of the London Eye."

"I can be your friend, Mister." The little girl smiled back, she held out her hand to Lockwood. "I'm Emma Jonathan. And you must be-" She paused for a minute staring at Lockwood's face. "Are you Mr. Anthony from the famous Lockwood & Co.!?"

Lockwood seemed taken by surprise with the sudden question but he looked like he was going to enjoy this girl's company. "Why, yes I am." And he flashed his straight white teeth.

The girl burst into a squeal and started jumping up and down. "Oh My Goodness!" She hugged Lockwood's waist (which was about as high as she could reach).

"You are! You are! I thought so! I read about you on the newspapers!" She continued showering Lockwood with endless praises and flattery. Lockwood had a smug look on his face as he began the story of how he single-handedly saved London from the destruction of a loose Raw-Bones. The two of them began talking animatedly drawing attention by many passer-bys.

Lockwood and his new friend took little notice of George who muttered darkly.

_Just my luck_, _two kids to take care of._


	3. The Agent: The Reckless and The Brave

**The Agent, The Ghost And The Wardrob**e

I: The Agent

Chapter 3

Rick Jonathan wasn't the only person enjoying his newfound freedom.

Lucy Carlyle strolled along the crowded streets of London pausing every few seconds to watch a street performer here or taking a sample from a shop there. With all the lights and sounds of the city, Lucy soon forgot about her legs exposed to the cold and the two boys who were supposedly making sure she wouldn't get lost.

I scoffed.

"_George, you watch her." Lockwood waved his hand at George while he bent to examine a book entitled _Moriarty's Guide To Quick And Painless Deaths (A Novel). _"Oh I don't think so," George said. "I believe it was your turn today, Mr. Sherlock."_

"_Oh?" Lockwood placed the book back on it's shelf and turned to face the chubby bespectacled boy. George nodded, "It's a Wednesday, remember."_

_"Yes you're quite right. I forgot." Lockwood smiled as if recalling a funny memory._

And my good mood was broken just like that. The nerve of them! They didn't even notice me standing right beside them. The twits.

I can't believe them.

I make one mistake, just _one,_ and they schedule systems to be sure that I have a guardian watching me 24/7. It wasn't my bleeding fault that the Ghost trapped me in. In fact, they should be on their knees kissing my feet for saving their sorry arses. If you asked me, everything turned out quite well.

It wasn't like that one case when we were all lost in the garden maze running for hours and hours when in fact it was just a cat in the bushes. Or the instance when we burned the whole second floor of the Hope's house. When Lockwood slips up, George and I don't take turns making sure he isn't going off on his own. We do that at the same time.

Uhh… Not my point.

I am not a child. I know my way around London quite well, thank you very much.

I continued muttering under my breath as I stomped along the sidewalk of the River Thames. I let my legs take me to wherever it wanted. And that was a mistake. Before I knew it, I was rubbing my head with my butt on the cold wet ground.

"Ouch! Hey," That hurt. I was going to give this guy a good scolding.

"Watch where you're going." And my temper was already rising with all my frustration ready to explode. I barely heard the apology as I was lifted to my feet.

"I know. I'm sorry." The voice said. I finished dusting myself (which didn't do much since my shirt was already covered with dirt and dried blood from last night's encounters).

"It's alright." I sighed feeling so tired all of a sudden.

The boy (he sounds like a guy) seemed to notice my attire and gasped, "Oh my- Did I rip your shirt? I can pay for them." I could hear a sincere tone of worry in his voice.

I honestly had no energy at all. All I wanted to do was curl up in my bed and wake up to find everything was just a dream. "No, seriously. It's alright-" I looked up to meet his gaze.

There was no gush of wind like in those overly romanticized movies. There was no spot light from heavens. There were no angels singing. (Though there was a loud blast of jolly music from the speakers above).

I didn't notice my mouth was slightly open, trying to complete a sentence. I didn't feel the cold anymore. In fact, everything turned completely numb. But in a good way, mind you.

The boy looked to be right about my age. With kind brown eyes I found hard to look away from. His brown hair was a mess with the wind that blew it all directions but he looked like it was perfectly styled it to have that nonchalant attitude. I stole another glance at his eyes and noticed long eyelashes that would've made models grunt with frustration.

_This boy, _I thought, _is prettier than I am._

Why do I feel like I know him? Do I know you? I thought I said that silently to myself when I realized he heard me. Something clicked in his mind and his eyes held a flash of recognition.

His face broke in to a wide (and rather goofy) grin. I sucked my breath in. Something about him lifted my spirits. Already, I could feel my body relaxing. It felt nice seeing someone smile today.

"Lucy! You're safe!" Next second, I was swept in an embrace by a (rather good-looking) boy, I barely knew. You can imagine my cheeks burning brighter than the Rudolph the Reindeer's nose.

His hugs were warm and comforting. Like I could've just melted on that spot by his sheer body heat. And I knew in that instant, I could walk into a dozen haunted houses with him by my side.

Huh, strange. Where did I get that from?

Still, I didn't like being stared at by a hundred people in the middle of the sidewalk. I struggled to wiggle out of his grasp.

"Who are you?" I stepped back. My face was flushed; my hair was probably a bird's nest. I was aware of every little detail of my surroundings. I could hear kids laughing and adults going 'oohh' as a gigantic float rolled down the street. I could smell pretzels heated in their rotary things. I could feel the freezing wind again now that we were several feet apart.

The boy's smile suddenly fell and I felt something sharp jab at my heart. I would've done anything to get him to smile again but I snapped myself out of it. What was wrong with me? I was _never_ like this.

I crossed my arms to stop me from shaking and I steeled my resolve.

"Who're you?" I asked again.

"You don't remember me, Lucy?" He looked at me as if he were expecting me to remember and give him another hug. "How did you know my name?" He inched forward; his eyes were a desperate plea for me to remember him. I couldn't help stepping back instinctively. That was a bad move.

He caught himself as if he knew that he would only make matters worse. Another jab went straight for my heart.

I gave him a moment to plan his next move. This boy looked so hurt and so confused. He stepped forward again; I held my ground. He reached for my cheeks and gently traced a line across my cheeks. "You were hurt."

It took a moment for me to realize what he was saying and I remembered. "Yeah. I don't really remember what happened but last night we were on a case and I suddenly felt fire around me. I could feel my body moving towards this closet but it had a broken mirror. When I tripped, my cheek was cut. And next thing I know, I was on a hospital bed with a needle sticking in me."

I had no idea why, but the boy started laughing. He seemed to find my story funny and I could feel my cheeks heating up again. Not because of his smile. (Though his smile did send butterflies in my stomach.)

"Well if you don't mind, I'll just be on my way." I said embarrassed, and turned to walk away. But a hand grabbed my arm and I spun around.

"I'm sorry. You must not remember me. But can I at least buy a new skirt to make it up to you?"

He didn't wait for a reply and he tugged on my hand as we walked down the opposite direction.

"Hey, wait a minute. This is kidnapping! I don't even know who the hell you are." I almost tripped trying to match his pace. There were so many people that I felt like I was walking through a forest thick with hot and sticky trees. The boy whirled around and caught me just in time.

He said with another charming smile. "My apologies. I'm Rick Jonathan. You can call me Jon."

* * *

"So you're a detective…"

This girl, Emma, sat down with her feet barely touching the ground looking up at Lockwood who smiled at her patiently. "Not exactly. We find Ghosts and solve Problems. We're Agents to be more precise. But I think detectives are just about what we are –minus the paranormal activity."

"Have you met any ghosts?"

"Oh yeah, loads."

"Can I see?" She asked, practically bouncing on her seat.

"I'm sure my good man George here can show you one or two." Lockwood grinned at George who expertly glared back.

"Amazing." She breathlessly whispered. Emma's eyes shone with the eagerness you usually see when you say you're taking a kid to an amusement park or the toy store. Instead here they were chatting about slaying Visitors like it was the most normal thing in the world.

"A few more years and I'll be an Agent." Emma whispered under her breath. George heard this and asked, "Why not start? You're the right age. Your Talent should be developed at some level by now." He blew on his piping hot waffle and took a large bite.

The little brunette shook her head sadly. "Mommy doesn't want me fighting Ghosts this early. She says I could get others killed." George silently agreed with Emma's mother. Barely ten minutes since they've met she's been the cause of several stalls' collapse, broke at least twelve different iron merchandise and managed to make George trip _twice_.

Yet he did sympathize with her. He loved the exhilaration of seeing the sun rise after you've managed to find the Source and finish a case. And being an Agent lead him to Lucy and Lockwood. Despite how much they irritated him, he would miss their constant debates on what they would have for dinner next.

He would especially miss teasing and taunting Lucy all the time. It was his favorite past time after all. He would miss how he watched all her expressions change rapidly like the colors in the sky. From complete and utter disgust to amazement to amusement and a hundred different combinations all at once. It was also really funny watching her try to resist the urge to smack him in the head. It only made him want to taunt her more.

Now that he thought about it, they should be searching for Lucy. God knows what sort of trouble she could get into.

Lockwood nodded as if reading George's thoughts.

No telling what Lucy would do next. He was almost never frustrated with Lucy the way George always seemed to be. Lockwood always treated women with respect like his mother taught him at a young age. And he knew something was special about Lucy the moment they met for the first time. (George wouldn't admit it but Lucy saved their hides more than they could count.)

Lucy Carlyle never failed to impress him. And with every minute he spent with her, he discovered something entirely new. Not just her but about himself as well. She brought out a different courage in him that he never knew existed.

He saw her hands shaking one time when they were on a case facing a Delusion. (Awful Type Ones that make you see the things you fear most. They're generally harmless but if you piss one off I suggest you run.) Not once did she cry for help. That was the kind of bravery Lockwood admired most.

She always had an excited glint in her eyes whenever she was faced with a challenge. She moved with a kind of tough precision whenever she knew someone was watching her. And a mellow attitude when she knew someone wasn't. Lockwood knew from her records that she was the youngest in a family of eight. All those years of being overlooked because she was the shortest and–by default–the most naïve must've taught her how to make the first impression last.

Lockwood laughed to himself as he remembered the one time she came bursting into the basement while he and George were practicing. She was red faced and yelling at them to get moving. They've completely forgotten about their appointment with a client. George was grumbling the whole ride about how he couldn't grab his notebook when Lucy came in and dragged him by the ear.

If there was one thing they could agree on, it was that Lucy was undoubtedly stubborn. You couldn't predict Lucy's actions about seventy percent of the time. It was either she thought of something incredibly brilliant or did something fantastically reckless. Last night's events seemed to confirm it.

Pushing them out to the corridor was the single most ridiculous thing she's ever done. She was left completely defenseless without her rapier.

Those iron chains couldn't save her if the Ghost tried to attack. She could've gotten out of there unharmed (more or less) if Lockwood were there to help. He cringed remembering Lucy's unconscious form in the midst of the sea of fire. They were so close to losing her; it was a miracle they even got to her at all.

Lockwood hated to think of the _What If's_.

_What if we couldn't break the door down in time? What if we never left her? What if she was ghost-touched?_

Then he remembered her face when she stumbled out of the hospital bed. Her body was covered with cuts and bruises. They were in a better condition then she was in and only because she pushed them out in time. Lucy smiled to let them know that she was okay but Lockwood and George couldn't help giving her a good reprimanding.

All these thoughts eventually lead to how they lost her so quickly again.

"You don't know what you're missing, kid." George finally sighed as he crumpled the wrapper and shot it in the trash bin nearby.

* * *

Time flew by talking to Jon.

And this was no exaggeration. They were moving from shop to shop with surprising speed that Lucy felt like those American superheroes running at the speed of light.

Nearly two hours had passed and Lucy was dead tired from all the walking.

"Who knew shopping could be this tiring?" She panted and glanced at Jon who was in a similar state as she was in.

"They should make this into an Olympic Sport." And the two burst out laughing until Jon started coughing. Lucy immediately bent down to him with concern. "Is it getting worse?" She asked him.

Within the two hours, Lucy found out that Jon was sick and he snuck out with his sister to celebrate his birthday. That earned him Lucy's respect, when she told him so his face broke into another one of his sunlit smile. (And it must be said, made Lucy's stomach flip.)

Jon was grateful that she didn't ask if it hurt. He didn't want to ruin anything. He was having so much fun, more fun than he's ever had in his entire life. Lucy was really good company especially when they weren't in a dream. Though he still hasn't mentioned that part.

He lifted his head and met her worried gaze. Jon smiled and waved it away. "It was just a cough."

Lucy nodded but she was unconvinced. She knew Jon was hurt. He tried to hide it and was pretty damn good at it too. But Lucy could sense his pain. She know she was using her Talent as well; her Inner as well as her Outer ear.

She planned to politely decline his offer to buy her new clothes as soon as she faced him. But this skirt she's been saving every single paycheck she got was on sale and before she knew it Jon was handing over a credit card to the saleslady. (Speaking of, Lucy thought, it's about time I got a raise from Lockwood.)

Imagine? Lucy's faced terrifying Ghosts and resisted the urge to jump off a cliff countless times yet she couldn't struggle against buying a new skirt? She was ashamed. But Jon looked so happy seeing Lucy happy. _How could I refuse?_ She thought.

Still, it felt good to be out of the tears and dust covered clothes she had on. She couldn't thank Jon enough.

Lucy kept asking if this was really okay with him. Wouldn't his father get angry? Jon's only reply was a good-natured chuckle. He'd said that his father would have to Visit the hospital where he was currently staying. And if that would have to happen, he would have to call on an Agency to fix the Problem. Lucy's cheeks flushed with embarrassment. And she began apologizing furiously.

It made her feel bad that she couldn't get him anything. Especially when he was forced to spend his birthday buying clothes for a stranger who doesn't even remember him.

They were walking down the streets their shoulders occasionally bumping each other. Jon was smiling and humming a tune Lucy didn't know. Lucy's face was burning as she carried the paper bags that held her tattered clothes and Lockwood's coat.

She had just realized that this street was the street she normally avoided because it was full of rich, stuck up kids who laughed at the beggars sitting by the stores' entrances. It was also the street that had the most inhumane prices in the whole of England. In simpler terms: Lucy didn't belong there.

Now this thought crossed her mind more than once before but she never had the chance to fully acknowledge it. And now that her head was finally more or less cleared and her legs fully clothed, she did.

Jon was rich.

This disappointed Lucy a bit. That ruled out buying anything for Jon's birthday. If he wanted it, Lucy bet he could buy everything he saw. She sighed. But she wasn't jealous of him. In fact, she always thought the rich were the poor ones. They didn't know skills that actually mattered. She thought all they did was drown in money.

Looking at Jon she knew her thoughts were confirmed.

He was dressed in a pair of Italian looking shoes and an expensive coat that Lucy could only dream of the cost. But Jon wasn't one of the stuck-up kids. He was gentle and Lucy liked that most about him. He was smiled to everyone who greeted him when she thought rich people only snorted and looked away. He was patient and always offering help even though he was tired and didn't show it.

Remembering the day only made her desire to thank him even greater.

Then Lucy thought of something brilliant.

**Author's Note:**

**Hellow :)**

**Thank you for putting up with my horrible grammar. If you can do me a favor and tell me what I missed and what mistakes I've made, that would be incredibly helpful! I'm always trying to improve my non-existent writing style. I haven't been here in a looongg time and I miss writing.**

**I really love Lockwood and Co. (It does remind me of Sherlock and the Three Musketeers all rolled into one hihihi) I finished reading the book thrice on the same day. It's been four days now and I'm still not over it.**

**T^T I wish Jonathan Stroud would hurry up.**

**To answer Anonymous Guest's question: Yes :)) You deserve a prize for figuring that one out! I summon all the claps in the world and direct them to you. Hooray~**

**I'm also glad that the Fandom is growing :)))) Welcome to the dark side mwahahahahahaha**

** I think Jonathan Stroud is a British Rick Riordan and if we're not careful, he might kill off a character. Oh Jesus Christ I hope not :( I ****can't wait for the Whispering Skull :(( And I hope that I get over this hangover soon *cries***

**SO thanks for reading this!**


	4. The Agent: Fighting Fire With Lucy

**The Agent, The Ghost And The Wardrob**e

I: The Agent

Chapter 4

The sun was quickly setting. It was becoming impatient; not wanting to spend another minute warming the earth filled with ungrateful souls. The chilly air took over, casting a mist like a blanket on the streets of London.

Anthony was just about to suggest that they head home when Emma gripped on to his hand. He bent down to look at her on eye level. The poor girl looked close to tears.

"Maybe your brother found his way home." He smiled reassuringly and gave her a pat on the head. Emma shook her head and showed Lockwood her mobile. It read: '_Emma, sorry to make you worry. I'm fine :) Go home without me.'_

"Please?" She clasped her hands and pleaded with Lockwood.

Lockwood glanced at her. He knew what was coming. George flashed him a dangerous look but he ignored it. "Okay, you can come home for the mean time. There might be Ghosts out if we stay here any longer." George looked like he was about to murder Lockwood. All he could do was return a weak smile.

Emma, on the other hand, looked absolutely delighted. She squealed and threw her arms around Lockwood's neck screaming, "Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!"

George could feel his temples throbbing.

Four hours and they haven't seen Lucy anywhere. Several times they thought they saw her short dark hair and trademark skirt and leggings but all of them turned out to be the wrong person. And what's worse: they had this annoying girl tailing them everywhere they went. She just wouldn't shut up about Lockwood.

George was looking forward to a quiet night when he could forget her high-pitched voice. But it seemed that it was never going to happen. The chubby blond groaned.

* * *

Emma looked right at home on 35 Portland Row. She walked through the iron gates and knocked on the wooden door. Lockwood was past the point of trying to get her to calm down. The two boys knew what it meant when they decided to go home without finding Lucy.

They left her without a rapier and she still had dizzy spells whenever she walked around a crowded place. She doesn't show it, but they notice her slightly swaying side to side or drowning in a sea of people. Like that one day they decided to go out to eat lunch and she nearly collapsed. She was so angry that they thought she was going to faint.

"_I can fight Ghosts with nothing but a rapier on me. I can survive a haunted house with my wits still in tact. And I've never given up on a case. I can handle this –whatever this is." _She told them one night when they brought it up.

_We didn't find Lucy and now we have _this _girl to take care of. _George glared at Lockwood as they stepped inside. Lockwood seemed to get the message.

_It's not my fault. Don't look at me like that; you're eyes are almost as bad as Lucy's. And what if Emma couldn't find her way home in time? It's dangerous to stay out after curfew._

George was about to give a mental reply when Lockwood interrupted him. _I'm sure Luce can find her way home. She's not stupid, George. _

_I beg to differ. _George scoffed.

_She's perfectly capable of taking care of herself. _Lockwood replied.

Emma was sitting on the couch holding one of Lockwood's strange artifacts. She immediately ran to Lockwood as soon as he stepped in the sitting room. "It's amazing here!" She clung to his waist. Lockwood smiled and patted her head.

"I'm glad you like it. Just try not to break any of these artifacts. Some of these are priceless; from centuries ago. We wouldn't want any of them to break, would we?" Emma nodded with a solemn look on her face. She stared at the artifacts with wide eyed from where she stood a few feet away from the glass cabinet.

Lockwood nodded and noticed the fireplace cracking with a fire. "Emma, did you start the fire?" Emma only shook her head and replied, "It's been there since I came in."

George looked alert. "Lockwood," He pointed to the scratch marks on the door. "Someone's been here."

Lockwood looked deep in thought. "I don't remember starting the fire before we left. Did you, George?" But the boy only shook his head. Lockwood rubbed his chin and trailed off silently. "Strange..."

For a moment the two boys were silent until Emma's shriek filled the house. In a flash, they stood in the kitchen, wicked rapiers shinning in the light. They scanned the room quickly looking for any sign of danger but only finding Emma with her arms wrapped around a young boy with startlingly similar features.

"Mr. Lockwood! Isn't this wonderful? My brother is here!" Emma was bouncing on the balls of her feet. She still had her arms around the boy's neck. He looked a bit weary of the girl's squealing but otherwise looked happy to see her too.

The boy stood up and walked towards the two boys who still had similar expressions of disbelief stuck on their face. He held out his hand or was trying to with Emma still holding on to his neck. "My name is Jon. I'm sorry that I suddenly barged into your home like this. Thank you for looking after Emma." He smiled warmly.

Lockwood studied him. Jon was at least two inches taller than he was but while Lockwood looked rested and athletic (George would've scoffed), Jon had a pale complexion with heavy eye bags he tried hiding under a smile. He seemed like a fellow Lockwood could get along with. But it wasn't enough to get him to trust Jon. As the question remains: how did he get in?

George, meanwhile, had a look of utter disbelief mixed with immediate dislike and a hint of detestation. Lockwood noticed this, but was unwilling to say anything in front of Jon. So he went for the friendly approach.

Lockwood flashed his own award-winning smile and shook his hand.

"Anthony Lockwood of Lockwood and Co. This is my deputy, George Cubbins. It's a pleasure to meet you and Emma," "Likewise," "But you must understand that it is not everyday we encounter someone who tries to break into our property; usually our clients call in advance to schedule a meeting."

This boy's smile turned to a panicked look, "Oh I didn't mean to break into your house-" "Oh?" Emma rode on Jon's back spilling out everything that happened to her and how she met Lockwood and George. But to Lockwood, it was only a noise in the background.

Jon looked sheepish. He rubbed the back of his neck and gently placed Emma to the ground. "Yes.. I was invited." Lockwood looked startled. It didn't take long to figure out who invited him.

"I'm sorry that took so long. You can't imagine the mess George made." Lucy walked in drying her hair with a towel around her neck. She hummed happily to herself and sat down opposite of Jon. Lockwood and George could feel their body's go rigid. Jon's bright smile only seemed to intensify upon Lucy entering the kitchen. "It's no problem." He pulled his chair and sat down.

Lucy ruffled her wet hair a bit more and swiped a cookie from the plate in front of her. Emma peered at her with curious eyes, barely a second passed and she screamed. Lucy blew her wet bangs out of her eyes and got up immediately.

"What's happening? Where's the Ghost!" She reached to her side but only finding cold air where her rapier should be. Emma rushed to her and hugged her waist (which was about as high as she could reach).

"You're Lucy Carlyle- the girl with the Brilliant Listening Talent. I've read your cases and I think you're absolutely amazing!" Emma's brown eyes sparkled with excitement. The little brunette tugged at Lucy's skirt and she bent down to hear the girl's whisper, "Don't tell Mr. Anthony, but I think you're my favorite Agent." Lucy looked stunned by the sudden outburst but was clearly pleased with the compliments Emma was showering her.

She was definitely blushing now. Lucy rubbed her nose with a goofy grin on her face. "Wow. You really think so?" It was a new feeling: having a fan.

Emma nodded her head vigorously, Lucy wasn't sure if she was just confused because of all that dizziness in her head. "Of course! You're the only girl and you began Ghost Hunting since you were eight! I want to be just like you when I grow up." She dreamily sighed, putting her hand on her cheek.

From the corner of her eye, Lucy could see Jon smiling and turned to look the other way.

With all the commotion going on and the bubble of happiness bursting in her, she didn't notice her hand moving towards the cookie plate and shoving the cookies in her mouth.

Lockwood's voice snapped her back to reality. "Lucy! How could you break the cookie rule?!" He looked very disappointed. Lucy almost choked on the cookie. Death by cookie was not an ideal way to go. She hacked and coughed for a good minute while Jon and Emma bent down and offered her cold tea.

Gratefully, she took it and downed it in one go. After which she sighed and got up to face George and Lockwood's cold stares.

"You cannot break the cookie rule, Luce. Absolutely under no circumstance are you allowed to break it." Lockwood looked at a loss for words. "And you could've told us you were going to bring company in this late!"

"Where were you? We were looking _everywhere_ for you! Lockwood and I thought you were in trouble!" George's expression looked absolutely murderous. But Lucy had a glare to match his. "I wasn't my fault! And I can take perfect care of myself."

"And I suppose that the fire last night was the perfectexample?"

Lucy looked utterly livid, "Don't you dare bring that up! I was saving your sorry arses from getting burnt to a crisp."

"But I recall there wouldn't have been a fire if you hadn't left that candle out. That's a mistake even an amateur couldn't make." George let the words roll of his tongue and immediately felt bad. If there was one thing Lucy took pride in, it was in being a good Agent despite not completing the Fourth Grade. But he couldn't take his words back, not now anyway.

He could see the flash of hurt in her eyes but she started shouting again, "I was tired! And if I recall, you kept me awake the other night, trying to figure out what the connection with the creepy skull was."

George looked taken aback. "Oh, so it's my fault now?"

"You kept me awake until 3 AM! You knew we had a case. But you didn't want to stop your stupid experiments!"

All the while, Lockwood was trying to get Lucy and George to calm down.  
"Hey now, Luce. Come one, George. Let's all calm down and have a nice cuppa, eh?" But Lockwood might as well've been a television set to mute.

"This has nothing to do with getting lost in the city!"

"You know Agents are discouraged from using mobiles." Lucy said.

"But did you know how worried we were?" George's voice continued to rise. All he could hear was a beating in his ears.

Lockwood could see the trouble approaching. "George.."

"We spent our whole day with that girl dragging us around London while you were just hanging around with this arsehole!" George pointed to Jon.

Lucy snapped. "Take that back." She whispered.

George was startled by the sudden quiet of her voice. He looked down, unwilling to face Jon.

"Sorry.." But Jon just waved the apology away. "Already forgotten." He said with an understanding smile.

Lockwood tried warning George again. He put a hand on the boy's shoulder.

"Oh? And I thought you were setting up shifts to babysit me. Was I too much to handle? Is that it? I'm not a child, George." Lucy spat the words with venom. Making Lockwood wince.

"What?" Lockwood this time.

"Oh you know what I mean!" Lucy crossed her arms. "Please explain, because I really don't." His tone shifted as he sensed George becoming more and more agitated. "Don't pretend you don't-"

"We've spent our entire day looking for you, Lucy! Did you consider what we went through? What if we found you collapsed on the street because of your dizzy spells?" George burst out with a face that was flushed pink.

"How did you know about my dizzy spells…" Lucy took a step back. "You'd have to be an idiot not to notice." George said. Jon and Emma watched them, turning their heads following the shouting match like a tennis rally.

Finally the shouting subsided. George was out of breath and Lucy stood with her hair still dripping wet.

The air was thick with tension. Jon didn't want to be a bother. Especially not at this time. But he couldn't excuse himself; he still had to take Lucy up on her offer. And they couldn't go out this time at night. He had Emma with him and he couldn't let her go out alone.

Instead he coughed once and twice. All heads turned to him, "Excuse me,"

"Lucy invited me here because we have a big Problem and we need it solved." He glanced at Emma and she seemed to get the message. She stood taller, mimicking the air of authority she always saw her mother doing when talking to clients and employees. Jon was grateful his sister continued for him, "We would like Lockwood and Co. to inquire into the Problem at Domus Ignis."

Despite the situation now, Lucy couldn't help but feel the jolt of excitement rushing through her spine. This would be a good case, she knew it. Lucy turned to Lockwood and could see the similar gleam of excitement in his eyes.

_Domus Ignis..._

The very name of the place sparked the same curiosity that made her want to jump into a haunted mansion.

Lockwood clasped his hands and smiled again, "Cup of tea, anyone?"

**Author's Note:**

**Hellow :)**

**I'm sorry if it seems like it dragged on. I was hoping to give a bit of justice to George since (Though I do love Lockwood and Lucy! I promise, it's my absolute favorite ship.) I suspect that he does really care for Lucy. He just has his own way of showing it.**

**And to be honest, I was feeling a bit down this week. It was really confusing because at first I was extremely happy and so energetic and stuff then some bad news came and I felt as dead as a pan (pun intended). Then I felt bad because of some friend problems and I thought I would break down and cry but idk. It's that time of the month again.**

**So I will make this story move a bit faster :) because I'm so excited for what I've thought of. I hope you are too. **

**Again, just tell me if there are any mistakes I've missed and tell me if you like my writing style. Basically anything.**

**Thanks!**

**P.S. I love Percabeth and Jonlock hihihi**


	5. The Agent: Domus Ignis

**The Agent, The Ghost And The Wardrob**e

I: The Agent

Chapter 5

"It's an attempted ghost-murder, Mr. Anthony." Emma said with an air of grandeur as she chomped on a chocolate-chip cookie.

"Ghost-murder?" George scratched the back of his head with his pencil, a confused expression on his face. Emma nodded with certainty.

With the row between George and Lucy momentarily put on hold, Lockwood and Co. sat in their sitting room facing their young clients. A plate of cookies lay untouched by all, save for Emma and George.

Lucy and George made an extra effort to pretend the other didn't exist. Lockwood sat on the sofa, carefully examining the siblings as they prepared to tell the story. George scratched and scribbled on his notebook taking a sip from his mug at one point and snatching a cookie at another. Lucy was the only one standing.

Lockwood glanced at Lucy several times as she paced the room back and forth. "Do you want to take a seat, Luce?" He moved over patting the seat beside him. She shook her head.

Jon was the one to explain, "I was in the middle of telling Lucy before she went up to take a shower." He smiled at her, which she returned gratefully.

Lockwood blinked and could feel a small bubble of jealousy rising inside him. But those kinds of emotions just wouldn't do well now. They had a client and a very promising case at hand. _Don't think about anything else but this case, Lockwood. _He chided.

His gaze followed Lucy as she moved around the room. She stopped beside the couch where Emma and Jon sat. Lucy made no move to sit beside them instead stood still and silent. Her eyes were glazed over and the cackling fire mirrored in them. The small scratch on her cheek was still visible, in the orange light it seemed to glowed.

He remembered how she fell sideways the minute they stepped in the burning room. He couldn't feel the heat and the smoke. He couldn't hear the deafening cackle of the fire or the sound of his own hoarse voice. All Lockwood felt was a terrifying numbness and terror of loosing Lucy to the fire. The broken mirror slashed her pale and ash streaked skin.

Lockwood noticed a white strip of paper attached to Lucy's skirt. Upon closer inspection, he could see that she wasn't wearing the tattered clothes they'd last seen her in.

"Luce, are those clothes new?" He pointed it out. "Hmm?" She snapped out of her daze. He repeated his question. Lucy has been in a daze lately even before their encounters the previous night. And she's been reluctant to go to the basement for a long time. Of course they tried investigating the talking skull. Lockwood had complete faith in Lucy's sensitive abilities. But… All this seemed too good to be true.

He recalled a quote he heard the other day. What it thought about coincidences: The universe is rarely so lazy.

Lucy's pale cheeks caught on fire. She tried explaining how she got them but she was talking fast and kept tripping on her words. That was another thing about Lucy that Lockwood found cute. Lockwood chuckled.

"And I can see there is a tag on the hem of your skirt, isn't Cobblers an expensive brand?" Lockwood wasn't like George who constantly took every opportunity to get Lucy in embarrassing situations. But teasing her was pretty fun.

Jon was the one who came to her rescue. Again.

"I'm sorry, Lockwood. I bumped into Lucy," ("Yes, you never did say how you two met.") "I saw that her clothes were torn so I offered to buy her new ones. As an apology for ripping her skirt." Jon flashed an apologetic smile towards Lucy but she only sighed with relief.

Lockwood could feel a vein throbbing but all he revealed was his own brilliant smile, "Ahh…" Even George seemed to radiate a menacing aura from where he sat.

"Can we continue now?" Emma piped up, waiting for Jon to pick a cookie before getting one herself. George snorted, "Finally." Only Lockwood heard this. Jon nodded and began:

"We were kids then, at Domus Ignis. But I guess I should describe the place first. It's really quite lovely. Just a small summer cottage on a hill, probably a minute's walk from the village. Our parents bought it when their business took off, that was almost a decade ago. Emma and I were still kids. Peter was already in college and Susan was graduating. We still had fun together. But we never shook this eerie feeling that there was someone watching us. Like there was a constant chill in the air.

"Susan and Peter both wanted to be Agents but while we were able to feel Ghosts better than adults, we couldn't see or hear anything suspicious. When our father was killed, the Agents who investigated suspected it was from ColdFire."

"A Type Two Ghost illusion that has the effects of a Ghost Touch" Lucy whispered. George nodded solemnly.

"That ruined any dream of fighting Ghosts. Except Emma, who still wants to hunt Ghosts." Emma smirked and punched Jon's arm playfully. After the pained smile on Jon's face faded, he paused wondering how he should continue. Lockwood nodded patiently.

Jon cleared his throat and proceeded, "The circumstances of his death were very strange. You see, Domus Ignis has a reputation in the village. There's a legend that the original owner had gone mad and set the whole house on fire, killing his wife and children along with him. Ever since then there've been eleven other deaths that all ended in a brutal fire. My father's death had been the twelfth and most recent."

Lucy felt the temperature drop a thousand degrees. Something didn't seem right about this story; something she couldn't place. And not just because of twelve terrifying deaths. But she was sure Lockwood and George had the same feeling.

"Why did your parents still agree to buy the house when there's such a history behind it?" George asked; Lockwood had his hands clasped in front of him. But Lucy knew that wasn't the question she wanted to ask.

Emma shook her head, "We weren't told about it. Our mother only knew until _after _papa's funeral."

"Villagers and workers there say that they always see a bright fire from the window at the attic. They feel the heat even from where they stood at a distance. Officers and firefighters arrive several hours later or the next day and find no evidence of a fire, whatsoever. Every person who've seen it say that they've always felt someone watching them, like a second shadow that never leaves." Jon paused for a moment, which Emma saw as an opportunity to speak.

"Our mother wants to sell the cottage. She can't bear to keep it any longer. And though she tells us she's not afraid of Ghosts, I know that the repeated incidents at the cottage are starting to get to her.

"A maid was stayed up late one night, checking to see if all the rooms were secured. It was before dawn when she felt the violent wind pull her into the attic. She kept banging on the door and yelling for help. There was a blazing fire that trapped her but once the sun rose, everything ceased. The door unlocked and another employee who'd heard the noise caught her before she fell."

"She was as white as a sheet when she came out, she recounted several things to the Agents who came to investigate but was too traumatized and fainted several minutes later." Jon finished.

* * *

I won't lie. I couldn't remember half of the conversation we had that night. And if I had known any better, it was because I didn't want to.

Something felt wrong. But with the strange mixture of artifacts and dangerous ghost jars with a fireplace and the homey sitting room, how could anything feel _wrong._ (Yes, that was sarcasm.)

It was as if there was another presence in the room. Besides us and our clients (not to mention the talking skull). But it was possibly because of George's annoying face that seemed exceedingly irritating that night or the fact that I was dead tired and hadn't had a proper meal in over 24 hours.

Tea and biscuits are brilliant don't get me wrong. I just miss piping hot cream soup or the fish and chips down at the pier. And I did have this recent craving for a juicy chicken wing.

Ugh. Focus, Lucy. You have to listen to Jon and Emma. What if they give a hint or a vital clue you missed? I pinched my cheeks and slapped my arms to keep me awake.

Lockwood shot me a puzzled look and he silently asked me a question, _Everything all right, Luce?_ I guess my half-hearted nod didn't convince him because he turned his attention back to Jon with a worried expression.

I was guilty that Jon volunteered to buy me a new, well.. everything.

We were on the cab going to the hospital where Jon is admitted in (which is also the same hospital I woke up in) and I blurted out that if they ever had a Problem they could call Lockwood and Co.; I'd be there to offer any service they require.

Jon's face lit up with another smile and I felt my cheeks burning as I ducked to enter the cab. He stopped me and we found ourselves sitting in our kitchen.

I was nervous for some reason, and accidentally spilled coffee on my shirt. Jon was laughing but his was good-natured and soon I found myself laughing as well. I excused myself to shower (I take very quick showers) and found that the hot and running water really does wonders to keep you sane.

"It's been five years since his death anniversary. Every year we would spend a night at the cottage just to pay our respects to father. But.." Jon hesitated, like he was about to give an important secret away. Lockwood didn't push him. It was Jon's story to tell, not his. That was kind of him; it reminded me of when we had our conversation at the library. That felt like ages ago.

But even I could feel the intensity of his gaze. Jon looked uncomfortable being stared down by Lockwood.

Emma raised her hand before she spoke, "When the lady came around, she was sobbing and shaking. The girls who were friends with her visited the hospital and they explained the curse."

"A curse?" George asked.

Emma nodded, "The thirteenth death will trap all souls of those then and now: They will never find salvation." The room remained silent for a long time. If we took the case, there was a possibility that we could die. I don't try to hide it. Being an Agent was a dangerous job. Death is inevitable, but we always try to avoid it while we can. So whether or not Lockwood and George wanted to take the case, they weren't giving anything away.

And I won't lie. This whole talk of thirteen deaths is freaky. But I made a promise to Jon and besides, what could possibly go wrong?

"It's simple enough!" I piped up. All heads turned to me. "We find the source of these Ghosts and seal it. Wrap it up before the thirteenth death comes and save the Jonathan family from a lifetime of humiliation."

I looked to Jon and Emma for support. "Right?"

**Author's Note**

**Weeeee that felt good. I love it when I finish a chapter. That excitement of the plot developing races down my spine and makes me itch to start the next chapter (which I think I will do right now :))**

**Thank you for reading this! I'm happy that the fandom is growing!**

** ! !**


	6. The Agent: Never Alone

**The Agent, The Ghost And The Wardrob**e

I: The Agent

Chapter 6

Lockwood had my arm locked around his and George's around my other.

"H-hey!" I screamed profanities and promises of finding their toothbrushes in the toilet bowl the next morning. But all Lockwood did was smile and chide, "Not now, Lucy. We have visitors in the house." They dragged me towards the basement door. I knew where this was going and braced what was to come.

Lockwood opened the door and the chilly air hit me like a slap in the face. I heard Emma asking, "Where are you going?" I could picture Jon's worried expression as he watched Lockwood and George pulling me away.

"We'll just be a moment," George replied and slammed the basement door shut.

* * *

"Lucy, what were you thinking?!" Lockwood and George seemed to scream at the same time. I frowned, my stubborn side kicking in. I picked at the hole on Lockwood's chair. The black material easily crumbled revealing the white itchy foamy thing that stuffed it.

They stared down at me. I tried matching their glares but ultimately failing every time. For once I was thankful for the dim light, this way I didn't have to look at them directly at the eye.

Socks and boxers and papers strung across the working area of the basement. The air was frigid and I could hear the ghost skull's echoing chuckle somewhere. "Do you hear that?" I asked them quietly. Then again, I could've mistaken this for the howling of the broken heater.

"Hear what," George crossed his arms and contemplated for a while. Like I was a very annoying bug he wanted to squish. The analogy irritated me and I was an inch away from reaching over the table and punching his pudgy face. "Now look here, Cubbins-" I spat but before I could get another word out, Lockwood cut me off.

"Stop trying to change the subject, Lucy." He said. I inwardly let out another groan. "I'm telling you, the skull is getting louder."

_Lucy... Lucy Carlyle... Choose your friends..._

I've heard this voice in my sleep. Haunting me like a real ghost that _wasn't _stuck in a Ghost-Proof jar. And every time, it told me I was alone. I was always alone...

My eyes burned, I blinked the tears away. I covered my ears to block the sound but a pair of hands moved mine away.

"Lucy, you can't just take a case like that." Lockwood furrowed his brow in a mix that was something like a third of worry, a pint of astonishment and a bucket load of disappointment. The look in his eyes made me want to kick a chair.

"And why not?" I asked, yanking my arms away from his grip. He looked hurt but I ignored the tingling feeling in my stomach. George stepped forward, "You can't recklessly take on the case without any _proper_ research."

"Domus Ignis sounds like a terrifying place, Luce." Lockwood said. I can't believe this, I said out loud. "We're _always _terrified, Lockwood. On _every _case, there's a chance we won't make it out alive. I thought you would jump at a case like this, you of all people. How is this any different?" I shook my head in disbelief.

George calmly took his glasses off and cleaned it with the edge of his shirt. "Maybe you should take a minute to think about this." My face was burning bright red for sure.

"What? You want me to take a minute and _think_ about this?" I couldn't control the anger threatening to explode or the building scream in my throat. "I promised Jon that I would be there to help with any Problem at all! If it weren't for him, I would've frozen to death by now." If I were paying more attention then, I would've seen Lockwood flinch as if I'd cut him with my rapier.

George face turned as red as mine. "Jon is not part of the team. He won't be the one who makes the rules." I had no idea where this conversation was leading. All I wanted to do was go upstairs and wake up hoping this was all a bad dream.

I felt weak. "And I suppose you are?" I asked again.

George scoffed, "Obviously. You're not in a position to make choices like those! You were being reckless last night. Do you know how much trouble you could've gotten into?" Not this argument again. It was always the same with George. "If we left you to making plans, Lockwood and Co. would be burnt to a crisp in an instant."

"_I _would burn Lockwood and Co. to the ground? What about you with your stupid ghost jars?" I wanted to fight back so badly, but I couldn't gather any more strength.

"You were the ones who left me without my rapier, without a change of clothes!" I got up from my chair and stood to face them. George let out a harsh laugh. "What!" I growled.

"Do you know why we didn't bring you your rapier?" Lockwood tried calming George down but he shoved him away. "Did you even think about why we decided to go Christmas shopping today?" George walked towards me. I stood my ground for whatever came next. But he walked past me to open a hidden closet on the wall. He came back a moment later with a paper bag in his hand. He threw it to the table and I stared at it.

Lockwood said, "This was for you. We were planning to buy you a new set of clothes and a rapier." I numbly took the black leather gloves from the bag. They fit my hand perfectly. I clenched my fist, testing its strength and taking in the warm and protective feeling it gave.

"We would've given this to you earlier if we didn't spend the whole day looking for you." George said, the tone of his voice was still tipped with venom but at least he wasn't screaming.

I don't understand, I whispered. "That's a surprise," George said mockingly.

I turned to look at him sharply. "So you can take all the time in the whole goddamned world to research a case while Lockwood and I would painstakingly wait for you to come back? I can't tell you the number of clients we've lost because you refused to go without any background information."

The boy took a step back. I guess he wasn't counting on me snapping. Even I was surprised by the tone in my voice. He tried retorting but I couldn't stop. If I did then I might start to cry. And no way in hell was I going to cry in front of them.

"And you can keep any ghost you want and always choose the place we're going to eat on _every_ occasion. All your stupid experiments come before me or Lockwood."

Lockwood held both palms up, "I want no part in this argument,"

"And you." I took a step towards him. "I'm not the reckless one." He inched back closer to the cold concrete wall. "You are." I poked his chest. "What! Why?" Lockwood asked, surprise.

"Why do you get to pick the good cases? All of the ones that can certainly get us killed. And I don't mind, in fact I counted on them. If it weren't for you, we'd never get any case started. When you screw up, we help you fix it. Instead of reprimanding you the way you're doing right now." I would've gone on for hours if George hadn't pulled us apart. But I think that ranting forever would've been easier.

"But you aren't entitled to make the plans. Just because you got the job doesn't mean you're part of the team!" My whole body felt icy.

"George!" Lockwood roared.

Everything passed like lightning. Lockwood made a move to get to George while he stood there with his mouth open wide. I waited a beat, watching his eyes to make sure George didn't mean to say those words. But I couldn't find any sign of remorse or maybe I wasn't looking hard enough: I'd made my mind up. And just as quickly I felt a throb and a sting on my hand.

Similar expressions of shock flashed through their faces. I could only imagine the bright red streak across George's cheek. I looked to the floor letting the shadow conceal my face. Lockwood motioned towards me but I, like the cornered animal I was, involuntarily moved backwards.

"Lucy.." The tone in his voice told me that he was truly sorry, even if it wasn't his fault. Not really. But maybe sorry wasn't what I wanted right now. I steeled my expression and met his sad gaze. My eyes felt dry and instead I detached myself from everything else. These feelings of hurt and betrayal weren't my own but of someone else's.

_You are alone..._

I always denied the voice in my dreams. I always screamed and shouted that I was never alone. I would never be alone again. But as I stood there in the stale basement air with the gloves in my fists, I wasn't sure if that was completely true.

* * *

Lockwood winced as he remembered Lucy's eyes cutting through him like a knife. She left with her eyes clear and hard. He looked back at George and heard the sound of the slap replaying in his head over and over.

George stood still watching Lucy disappear out of the basement. His glasses had flown to the corner of the room. The blonde boy bent down and set it on his face. They were bent at an awkward angle and the lens caked with dust. Once upon a time, Lockwood would've laughed at the state he was in. And maybe they would've laughed at how Lucy's powerful slap made its mark on George. The blonde bespectacled boy made no move to wipe them as he always did.

But Lockwood knew this was no laughing matter. The two stood silently. What was there to say? It was George's idea to get Lucy a new rapier since hers' had melted in the house and Lockwood's to buy a new set of clothes. This was their first Christmas together and so far it was turning out to be more of a nightmare.

George wished with all his heart he could take back everything he's ever said to Lucy. He didn't mean that. He never meant it. Without Lucy, he and Lockwood would've died countless times. She was irreplaceable. George knew Lockwood knew this too.

But George couldn't shake her expression. He wouldn't mind if she got angry and punched him in the gut. The slap across the face didn't faze him as much. He could handle her anger and was too used to it at this point. He knew her strength; she would walk out with her head held high if it killed her. But there was a trembling in her lips. It was the only thing that gave her away. She pursed them to keep from shaking, Lucy tries so hard to show how brave she was even when he and Lockwood already knew this.

Lockwood tried not to look at George, "Come on, let's go."

* * *

Lucy almost broke apart. She could feel her lips quivering and she didn't try to hold it anymore.

She leaned on the door for support. Her eyes were burning so she let her tears extinguish the flames. Lucy didn't let her voice escape her mouth. She bit her knuckles to keep her from crying out. At first, Lucy couldn't tell if the blood on her fist was from her biting or the opened cut on her cheek. Soon enough, the blood mixed with her tears as she stood there letting them fall on to the ground. Finally, she couldn't take it and slid down the door.

_You have always been alone. Nothing's changed..._

The voice found it's way into Lucy's consciousness. It even had the decency to laugh. She tried blocking its sound with her palms. Shut up! She screamed in her mind and the voice went quiet.

Lucy might've spent the whole night crouching on the floor if not for the shriek she heard from the other room.

"Emma?" She dashed into the room only to find Jon collapsed on the carpeted floor and Emma trying to shake him awake. The girl looked up, Lucy saw the scared look in her eyes. "Please help him."

Jon wasn't stirring. His chest rose up and down but his breath seemed labored. They would have to move quickly. Lucy nodded and grabbed the nearest coat on the rack.

Lockwood and George rushed up the stairs as soon as they heard the scream. They were worried that Lucy was injured but the voice most definitely sounded like Emma.

"Lucy!" They burst out of the door and found the kitchen empty. The two boys were panting and their hearts racing. The library was empty and so was the sitting room. The fire still burned, it cackled like it knew a joke they didn't.

George stooped down to examine the carpet. It was flat: something hard must've fallen on it. He got up quickly as he heard Lockwood's shouting. Lucy stood out of the door with Jon slung on her like a backpack. "Lucy, where are you going?" Lockwood's voice was frantic.

Lockwood thought he saw a flash of desperation in her eye but it was quickly replaced with something along the lines of loathing. "You shouldn't go out this late," Lockwood moved to help Lucy. But she went rigid like Lockwood's touch might hurt her. The three of them stood in what seemed like ages but must've only lasted a minute.

Emma's high voice iced with worry broke their spell. "Lucy! The ambulance is here." She dashed past the iron gates and didn't stop to notice the tension in the air. Lucy tore her gaze from Lockwood and George and went to follow Emma to the medics waiting.

The medics took hold of Jon and gently placed him on the stretcher, which they fluidly brought inside the ambulance. A nurse was with Emma putting a blanket over her shoulder and asking her questions. Lucy stood by silently watching, her cheeks were stained with blood from the opened cut.

George stood by the door as he watched Lockwood step into the streets. He puts a hand on Lucy's shoulder but she slaps him away. Lockwood tried explaining that what George meant was only an accident. He tries getting Lucy to come back to the kitchen so they can fix this. But Lucy only turned around with a cold look in her eyes.

George was still far from where they stood and the noise in the background made it hard for him to hear clearly. But he knew what Lucy said as she climbed into the back of the ambulance. Lucy's expression was bitter and detached, "I don't make the plans now, do I?"

* * *

Lucy didn't even flinch as they cleaned the wound on her cheek. For a small cut, it bled a lot. The nurse commented. How did you get it? She asked. Lucy only shrugged. She had no idea.

A lavender bouquet was strung on every door and corner of the hospital. Jon was rushed into the ER and Emma worriedly paced the waiting room until the doctors told her visitors were allowed. As it turns out, Jon has a special number to their hospital's Emergency Hotline. Since their parents own the hospital, it was only natural for Jon and Emma. All this time Lucy had spent with Jon and she didn't even ask about his condition. Lucy felt ashamed.

Emma's shoes clacked and echoed in the bright corridor. Her once curled, prim hair was now in a tangled mess. And her dress was stained with tea and crumbs of cookies. She and Emma were the only visitors waiting on the iron benches. There were few people working late at night. The Problem really changed the working hours and caution had become a constant reminder to many people.

All Lucy wanted to do was fall to her bed. Her bones felt like lead. The whole day was so tiring, physically and emotionally. She wondered if she could collapse since there were nurses and doctors everywhere. But that would be insulting to Emma, besides she needed Lucy for support.

An hour passed before they heard loud footsteps coming from down the hall. Lucy looked up when Emma sniveled and ran over to them. She stood up to greet them as well. The group was four in total. They were lead by a doctor with sweat glistening from his forehead. "Here she is, Mrs. Jonathan." The doctor said to the woman who Emma had her arms wrapped around. The man behind them asked Emma, "Is he okay?" She only shook her head with anxiety.

The woman Lucy could only guess as Emma's mother pinched the bridge of her nose. She had a face that might've once looked young if not for the years and the mountains of stress that wore her down. She had the worry in her eyes that all mothers have as they think of their children. But the woman's tense lines on her forehead lightened as she stroked her daughter's hair.

Lucy felt her heart tighten and vowed to do whatever it takes to help Jon and his family. She spoke up and all five heads turned in her direction.

Lucy could only think of what their first impression of her was. There she stood in an oversized coat that belonged to Lockwood with bags under her eyes and her hair an uncombed mess. No doubt she could sense the accusing tone in the man's voice, "Who're you?".

"Mrs. Jonathan. I am Lucy Carlyle of Lockwood and Co. and I accept your Problem at Domus Ignis."

I could see the mixed looks of worry, confusion, surprise, suspicion and excitement (from Emma). Expressions on faces I'm all too familiar with. But I'd made my mind up a long time ago. And I would solve this case, even if it meant George and Lockwood wouldn't be there with me.

**Author's Note**

**Hellooooo! I'm sorry if this seems a bit late (?) I don't really know. It's hard to keep track of time when you're on vacation. I'm with my family in the UK :))) (well, Edinburgh to be exact) AND I STILL CAN'T BELIEVE IT. It's my calling. I've been waiting my whole life to come here. So if anyone can direct me to Benedict Cumberbatch's house, I'll just be on my way ;) hahaha**

**I want to thank you so much for the reviews! I really love reviews! Any kind of review is great and great help too. I always get excited when a new review is posted or a new comment is placed and I always get this tingly feeling in my tummy hahaha :) So what do you think of the story so far? I'm happy that this fandom is growing. Really! And I'm happy that you're apart of it.**

**So thank you again! And I hope you enjoy your break from wherever you're reading this :)**


	7. The Ghost: Sketchy

**The Agent, The Ghost And The Wardrob**e

II: The Ghost

Chapter 7

"And you just decided to mention your condition to me now?" Lucy puffed her cheeks and crossed her arms. Jon looked to her pleadingly.

"I'm sorry, Lucy! I didn't want you to know." Jon tried sitting upright, forgetting about the tubes and wires hanging around him. The quiet hum of the oxygen tank keeping Jon alive filled the momentary lapse of silence.

"About the glass shard piercing your veins? That you could die just about any moment? Maybe it's that your family owns MedTech Institute? Or was it the fact that your dad invented the shot for curing Ghost-Touch?" Lucy rambled, her face flushed. The full impact of who the Jonathan family was hasn't sunk yet.

She spent the whole day with the son of England's wealthiest family. Lucy let out a small disbelieving laugh. It will take some getting used to.

Jon held his breath, hoping that Lucy wouldn't leave. The shard has been a thorn in his side for nearly two years now. Sure, his friends from school visited him from time to time but little by little, they stopped. And he's been getting lonelier and lonelier with each passing day. He's had the best birthday he's ever had in his 15 years and a best friend in an equally long time. He didn't want to lose her now.

But it didn't occur to Lucy to keep her voice down in the ward.

"Well, he was part of the team that discovered it." Jon corrected, but shrunk back when he saw the look on Lucy's face.

A knock on the door distracted Lucy from her thoughts and a friendly face with very Scottish red hair popped in. Jon sighed with relief at Charlie's good timing. Otherwise, Lucy might've torn Jon apart.

"Good morning, Charlie." Jon smiled, he felt more energized today, which was odd considering the searing pain in his chest and his body that felt like rubber.

But Charlie didn't return his smile. Instead she looked at him with an expression not unlike Lucy's. "Mr. Richard Jonathan..." She said menacingly.

Memories of yesterday's encounters came flooding back. Jon saw Charlie's frantic expression upon seeing his empty bed. He could only imagine the hospital's staff on maximum security. And let's not mention his mother's blood pressure.

_Thanks, Emma._ He thought dryly.

* * *

"Hey, George,"

Lockwood nudged the blonde boy, his head thumped on the table almost spilling Lockwood's coffee.

"Hmmm?" George's voice was muffled with the kitchen's thinking cloth. His head positioned above Lucy's-rather accurate-drawing of the London Underground.

Lockwood gave George another violent shake before continuing. "Wha-what?" George looked around as if searching for the source of the threat. He wore his glasses and blinked a few times.

"What is it, Lockwood." He grumbled, and shined his glasses with the hem of his shirt.

"Where do you think Lucy's gone to?" Lockwood ruffled his already messy hair and rubbed his tired eyes. George only shrugged his shoulders.

They stayed up all night waiting for Lucy to return. Both of them fell asleep on the kitchen table and the following morning they woke with Lucy trying to sneak out of the door.

Lucy wore her skirt and coat with a backpack strung on her shoulders. An old rusting rapier hung from her hips. They stopped her and George mumbled his apology. Lockwood pleaded with Lucy but it didn't look like she accepted it. She only shook her head and walked out of the door.

Two days later, there they sat waiting for her to come back.

Last night, she gave them a forced smile but refused to speak to them. Lockwood could still feel the spite in her gaze. The air in the house felt dead with tension and worry for Lucy. The two boys let out a sigh they didn't know they've been holding back.

"You've seen her in the library then?" Lockwood said to George. The plump boy nodded heavily.

"And what did you find about Domus Ignis?" Lockwood took a long gulp from his cold coffee. He almost gagged at the bitterness but it did nothing to keep him awake.

George shook his head, "She was borrowing all the books and articles on Domus Ignis; I couldn't approach her or she'd run away. I asked my friend who works there to borrow them after her." Lockwood sighed again, he would much rather have George be there to watch her but it would have to do.

"She's also been taking a lot of trips to Fittes'. Do you think..." George trailed off. They didn't dare think about it. But the unspoken words passed over them. The fear was already there, unable to loosen its grip on the boys. No one could imagine Lockwood and Co. without her.

After a long period of silence George asked, "And I suppose you asked one your night-watchers to look after her as well?"

"Of course," Lockwood said. It might've been true that Lockwood and George set-up shifts to look out for Lucy. But something might happen to her again.

_Only for a few days…_ The doctor's words echoed in Lockwood's mind. _Could trigger her trauma…_

He would never forgive himself if Lucy got injured because of them. Lockwood ruffled his hair in frustration and screamed. George looked at him with a blank expression.

He opened his mouth to speak but a chime cut him off. And they wordlessly left the table in haste to get to the door.

* * *

Between researching on Domus Ignis and visiting the Jonathan family, I was spending much of my time steering clear of 35 Portland Row.

I recalled yesterday's events when Lockwood and George caught me snooping around the house. It felt silly to tiptoe up the stairs since I had a right to live there whether or not we had a disagreement.

But I remembered that I wasn't part of the team and kicked the already cracked gourd. They found me and I managed to give them a forced smile but my heart wasn't into it. It hurt to see them sitting around the thinking cloth with a cup of tea and cookies. So I turned around and ran to the streets before they could ask me to stay.

The busy streets of London were teeming with life and noise. Tourists were taking shots of the London Eye and the Big Ben and cyclists sped beside the bright red buses. The day was surprisingly bright and cloudless. And I blink the sunspots away from my eyes.

A couple apologized as their child bumped into me. I managed a half-smile and continued walking, already halfway across the bridge.

To be honest, I was beginning to like the sounds and lights of London. And the dizzy spells were wearing off.

The nurse at MedTech checked me and said I'd be fine if I just continued to expose myself to the city. I mused at the advice and decided to stretch my arms out like a family was doing for a group picture.

The sun was warm and felt nice on my skin. I breathed deeply but only smelling the smoke and cool air. A car sped by whipping my hair and I jumped back instinctively.

I made my way to the other side of the bridge quickly and silently.

_Well_, the nurse did say not too much exposure.

* * *

It was finally dark when I got to 35 Portland Row. I knew I couldn't keep eating hospital food; my wallet was practically empty at this point.

And it felt weird being let in when only the family was allowed to enter.

But the Jonathan family wasn't the snotty stuck up people who ordered us to clean their ghosts up. In the time I spent with them, I managed to pick up a lot of things about the house and about them (their father specifically). Like their father was an avid smoker and therefore always carried a lighter around with him. How their mother was the head of MedTech and was always busy with phone calls and meetings.

And how Jon has two siblings (other than Emma) who are finished with college. The eldest, Peter, just arrived from Cardiff when they received news about Jon fainting. Susan, the eldest sister and an intern living in Paris.

Other than that, I felt like I was somehow responsible for Jon collapsing. (Which was true: he forgot to drink his meds that time.) And it was nice to have a friend who still wanted to talk to you instead of tell you that you weren't part of the club.

I felt my jaw lock and my teeth grind with the memory of George's words. I let the animosity bubble in my stomach and the heat creep up to my cheeks. The anger took charge and I slowly let them all go.

Soon all that was left was a deep sadness and a burning pain in my chest.

I was too tired to get worked up over something that happened three days ago. I sighed and checked my backpack to see if my files were still intact.

After securing my meager belongings (and myself), I figured I had stalled long enough and pushed through rusting iron fence.

As I entered I could hear a girly giggle from the living room and a chuckle from Lockwood.

I know I said that I was too tired but something flared up in me, something that had nothing much to do with anger or the fight a few days ago. It was an emotion I was very familiar with but I wouldn't dare say it.

I steeled what little resolve I had left and entered the sitting room (which was the only way to get to the stairs at this point).

You could visibly see George stiffen as I stepped into the room. Lockwood was busy offering a cookie to our guest to notice my appearance. The lady sitting with her back to me was giggling like a hyena and tossed her blonde over-premed hair.

Lockwood almost slipped as he saw me standing there.

"Lucy! Welcome home!" He dropped the plate onto the girls lap and enveloped me in a warm hug. His grip was so strong that I couldn't move a muscle (not that I wanted to, anyway). It did feel good to be home. I almost let out a sob.

But something was glaring at me from the corner of the room. Something fat, blonde and bespectacled.

George coughed and I untangled myself from Lockwood's embrace.

I coughed the blush away from my face and turned to acknowledge the presence of the lady who was glaring daggers at me too.

She whipped her ridiculously big fan and fanned her face. Her noticeably fake eye lashes bounced up and down. It made me want to puke the small sandwich I had for dinner.

"Well, Sir Anthony. Thank you for graciously letting me stay the night until the sun comes up, that is." She bowed, gripping a piece of her dress like a curtsy. She then batted her eyelashes. I was just thinking of calling MedTech to get her eyes checked.

* * *

"Lucinda's grandmother was pretty spooked because of a disturbance she felt the previous night." Lockwood handed me a thin folder with the contents of Ms. Fake Lashes' house.

I squinted at the black and white image of their home and a thought came to me.

"Wasn't this the house where we had our case a few days ago?"

I tried not to talk much since I wasn't really on good terms with George yet. But he was babysitting the blondie so I decided Lockwood would be safe. And the fight wasn't really his fault.

Lockwood's ears turned pink and coughed.

"Yes, well... It seems the Source hadn't been sealed enough.."

I narrowed my eyes at him and asked, "You didn't seal the Ghost?"

"I was a bit carried away. And the fire you had was the Magnesium Flare, wasn't it? I just assumed that the Source burned along with it.." Lockwood blushed furiously at my knowing grin.

"Stop smiling, Luce. It gets distracting." Lockwood turned to look at the passing houses. I didn't say a word and sank back into the bus' seat. But I didn't wipe the grin on my face.

When we arrived at the stop, the bus fled away like a child trying to run from school. The smoke soon dispersed with the wind and the cold hit me like a slap in the face.

Barely a week has passed and I wish we never accepted the job in the first place. I braced myself for the memories to come flooding back with a single touch.

I looked at the attic's window where I had my daring ordeal (and almost got burnt to a crisp). What was it with me and fire?

The cut on my cheek stung as I recalled how my body felt so heavy and my head too light. The pain became unbearable and I pressed my cool palm to the sting.

"You all right, Luce?" Lockwood asked.

I nodded with tears rimming my eyes. But I walked ahead before Lockwood could see any of them.

We set up our mini base in the kitchen silently, passing salt bombs here and boiling a cuppa there. I took extra time in scouting the rooms. And I could tell Lockwood wanted to do the same. We had a silent agreement to leave the attic for last.

I had no idea why the old lady wanted us again. Especially since I almost burned her house down.

When I told Lockwood this, he just shrugged his shoulders and said, "It is suspicious. I asked Lucinda as well, but she couldn't say. Though she heard her gran saying that she wanted us in particular. Must've been out of her mind." Lockwood grinned.

"Still is," I added.

Several agonizing minutes of silence passed by and Lockwood decided to stay within the light of the lamp in the kitchen.

I scribbled on my notepad while my mind worked furiously. Everything was sharp and clear. Both my inner and outer senses were working on overdrive and I wanted them to stop.

I couldn't shake this feeling that someone was watching us. I was aware of the sounds of Lockwood flipping a page of the tabloids. I was aware of the tick-tick of the grandfather clock by the sitting room. I was aware of the chill that swept by us which turned the page I was drawing.

I didn't bother this at first since the heating in the house was shut off. But the wind blew harder and the pages whipped faster. All of my previous drawings of our cases flew by. Drawings of little things like teacups and rapiers. And drawings of the Ghosts and people we've fought.

The pale ghostly figure of Annabel Ward stares at me with her arms outstretched as if to welcome me in an embrace. In all of my recent dreams, I always see her with her blank and empty eyes. But in my drawing, her eyes are peaceful and calm.

All at once the howling wind stopped and the page landed on a sketch I had never seen before.

I looked closer. Unfamiliar lines and strokes of the pencil filled the blank canvas. The wind died down and the image became clearer. It was the silhouette of a boy in pajamas. I ran my fingers over his face as if to wipe his tears away.

To my surprise, the tears vanished on the canvas. I dropped the sketchpad with a yelp and the page vanished, buried along with the other drawings of Ghosts.

Lockwood jumped to his feet, a cookie in his hand where his rapier should be.

"What is it?" He pointed the cookie, scanning the area.

"Put that in your mouth before you seriously injure someone." I couldn't help cracking a joke. But the urgency of the situation came back to me and I quickly gathered my wits.

"Nothing, nothing. It was nothing."

I bent down to pick it up when I noticed the page open to the sketch I was working on. My mind was too preoccupied with a hundred other things to notice what my hands were drawing.

I moved closer to the light and the shadows dispersed. My eyes adjusted to the light and I could see a pale form of a boy. I tilted my head and could make out the shape and the detailed sketch of the wardrobe in the attic.

* * *

"Lucy! Wait a minute!" Lockwood hastily gathered his and my rusting rapier and our other supplies. I heard the crash of china and salt bombs. Lockwood swore loudly. But I didn't look back.

Blood was roaring in my ears. The world was bright. Too bright.

I took the stairs two at a time. The house was pretty big with narrow corridors and a dozen rooms for who-knows-what. All I knew was that I had to get to the attic.

I couldn't explain this feeling. All I can tell you is that something bad is going to happen if I didn't get to the attic in time.

Lockwood's voice called out to me in the dark.

The agent in me said that it was very immature of him to shout in a Visited house. Everyone knew that the more noise you make, the more irritated they will become. But this was the point when nothing made sense to me anymore.

I felt like I was moving in water. Every step towards the attic's door felt like it was moving farther and farther. Everything around me looked blood red.

The dark illuminated. And the unnatural light was harsher than plain daylight.

The feeling of _malaise_ crept on me and I couldn't shake it off. I turned around only to come face to face with a burning ghost.

A quick look at the approaching Ghost and I could identify it as a Screaming Spirit. How could I tell? The next minute I crashed to the ground with the wind knocked out of me.

The Visitor floated closer to me I shakily got to my feet. I reached for my rapier but only finding the cold air where it should be. I muttered a curse.

I looked behind the Ghost to see the small wooden door. It sat, taunting me on top of a flight of steep stairs.

I was beginning to feel desperate and not because of facing this Ghost without any weapon. My only thought was to get to the door. And I couldn't very well do that without passing through this Screamer.

I ground my teeth and grabbed the coat rack. It was as all I had and and probably weighed more than the usual rapiers.

With the iron rack in my hands, I thought of what lay behind the door and charged.

**Author's Note**

**Oh I don't know what to say right now... Well this is getting awkward...**

**Now I made it more awkward...**

**...**

**I hope you liked this chapter! Maybe you could tell me in a review, yeah? :)**

**So just the usual: I need help with grammar and spelling and I will make this plot move faster! Somehow...**

**Okie dokie now, ciao~**


	8. The Ghost: Bitter or Sweet

**The Agent, The Ghost And The Wardrob**e

II: The Ghost

Chapter 8

_Lucy..._

_Finally back? For good, I hope._

_Brilliant! I was getting worried._

I snapped my eyes open and the world was a blur, a whirl of spinning colors.

My head was throbbing but I forced myself to sit upright which resulted to only making the headache worse. I imagined a waterfall of blood crashing down to my body. I rubbed my aching back and tried to blink the light away from my eyes. Sunlight streamed from the window and I tugged at the soft blanket covering half of my body.

I tried remembering what exactly happened after we entered the old house.

Did I black out in the middle of a mission? _Again_.

I groaned, partly from the pain and ache, partly because of the lack of maturity I displayed when facing a Ghost. I had to stop doing that._ Splendid job, Lucy Carlyle._

The silence in the room told me I wasn't in the hospital. That was a plus.

Once I gathered my bearings, I saw the familiar wallpaper and smoking fireplace where Lockwood and Co. always received clients. I was home.

Maybe everything was a horrible dream? I sighed with relief for a moment and ran my hands on my face to be sure everything was in its proper place. (You never know what might've happened.)

I almost choked with happiness but the thin scar on my cheek ruined it. And I sighed again, without the relief I was feeling a moment ago.

So the case was real. The fire was real. And the Ghost that almost knocked me out was definitely real.

But what about last night's assignment?

At first I didn't realize I had spoken out loud until I heard a grunt come from behind me.

"George!" I spun around, and came face to face with the boy I so desperately wanted to punch.

But in that moment when everything seemed so surreal (and I had almost died several times), the fight hadn't crossed my mind at all. Apparently, he hadn't been expecting my sudden affability after three days of the 'cold shoulder'.

His face burned bright red for such a short while that I thought that it might've been a trick of the mind. George coughed into his fist and the almost-evident blush on his face receded, replacing it with a usual plastic expression that was his face.

"Lockwood stormed through the basement's entrance. You were out cold, strung over his shoulders. One minute, I was sitting on my desk sipping tea and cross referencing several articles; the next, I find that we had an entrance directly from the outside to the basement." George clicked his tongue and stared at me with his blue, calculating eyes.

I found my usual annoyance at George advancing again. And I suddenly remembered why we were fighting. I recalled the shouting and slapping and... oh yes... That's why.

I huffed and decided to go back to sleep.

The couch was stiff but not too stiff that your back would feel like cardboard afterwards. I crashed to my side and pulled the blanket over my shoulders, shielding me from George's gaze.

Next minute, I felt the other half of the couch sink slightly. I could feel George sitting where my feet should be.

"Lockwood is out to incinerate the Source at Fittes'. The Source was a pile of ashes, apparently. Lockwood said that you burned the bones once you entered the attic room." I was trying to act nonchalant and impassive while George went on talking. And I was trying very hard not to respond, it was becoming increasingly difficult since George always managed to insult me after every sentence.

But when George gave me the news, a very heavy weight settled on my chest. I sprang upright again, "What?".

"You know what, don't you?" George sighed. If I tried really _really _hard, I could recall a small portion of the night. I could remember red around me, everywhere. I could see faint lines of an unfamiliar sketch. I could hear a bright ghost that guarded the entrance to the attic.

I focused my energy on the last memory and soon more snippets became clearer.

"When Lockwood got to you, you were facing a Screamer with only an iron coat rack in your hands." With the sentence itself, you would've expected it was meant to praise you. But George somehow managed to turn it around and tell me how stupid I was to leave my rapier with Lockwood.

A few days before our fight ever started, I learned the trick of blocking his voice: Pretend that it was an annoying buzzing sound around your head and look at his face like it was hapless dough. But I needed to know what happened next, instead I settled for pretending to punch his pudgy form.

"He says he's never seen anyone do that to a Ghost. The Screamer disappeared as easily as if you cut it with your rapier. But you didn't stop there or even wait for him to catch up with you. It was like you couldn't hear him." I could hear a memory of blood pounding in my ears. My whole body became numb.

I wanted him to stop; I didn't want to remember anymore. But George continued, "Instead of asking for your rapier like any normal Agent would, you dashed into the room without any protection or defense whatsoever." He made a disapproving sound.

"When you entered the attic, you took one quick look at the Screamer and hurled flares at it. Lockwood arrived and managed to catch you before you fell. He sealed the remains and well..." George didn't finish. He didn't have to.

Silence maintained the chilling air in the room. But it seemed like I was the only one who felt the cold. I barely heard his, "I'll go make you breakfast. But you should probably get dressed first, your clothes must stink." I numbly nodded and slowly made my way to my room.

I stood at the entrance to the attic and I realized that it looked so similar. I ran my fingers on the sill of my windows, looking outside but not really paying attention to what I was doing.

I kept replaying my meager memories like records, over and over again. And every time, it concluded where I charged at the Screaming Spirit.

The thought hit me like a flash of lightning. I ran down stairs and out the door. I couldn't tell George where I was going instead I left a scribble on the thinking cloth saying I'll be out.

I impatiently tapped at the railings as the bus stopped by a red light. It gave me a chance to collect my thoughts. The idea was so absurd and so delicate that it felt like if I thought about it too hard or concentrated on it too much, it would disappear. I couldn't loose my train of thought now, but I did it anyway.

The boy was most definitely the same Ghost I met one the first night. How could I forget the face of this Ghost? Even as I thought it, I knew this was wrong. I never forgot; the face never really left my mind. It just took sometime for it to resurface again.

And I clutched my sketchpad closer. I didn't dare look at it for fear that I would be proven right. I had to get to the owner of the wardrobe; the owner of the Ghost's figure.

The bus screeched to a stop and I jumped off, not waiting for any guard to pull the doors open. I ran down the corridor and stopped in front of Jonathan's room.

* * *

_The Night Before…_

Jon was feeling stupid and giddy and incredibly happy for the first time in years.

He had a party hat strung on his head and his two little nephews were tugging at his hat and ears and just about other exposed part of his body.

Susan was taking shots of the scene while Emma held out a gigantic cake, taking up majority of his bed. His mother was humming to herself as she took a sip of her tea. Peter was on his smiling into his phone.

Jon couldn't have asked for a better party.

Sure, it was small but his room was private and separate from other patients. His mother thought it would be better for him to have peace and solitude from other kids in the hospital. And he didn't blame his mother; she only wanted what was best for him. But he often wished for a friend to talk to.

Normally, these thoughts would haunt him for the rest of the day until sharp pains in his chest cut his breath short. Maybe he would vanquish the loneliness by writing in his journal. Today was the only exception. Jon reached under his pillow and felt his hands come into contact with the spine of his notebook.

He wanted to continue the story he's been writing. It's been a long time since he could update it. And he's thought of something new to add. _I wonder if I can get Lucy to read it…_ Jon trailed off.

The thought surprised him and he shook his head. Why was it always Lucy who occupied his thoughts? He looked out the window of his bedroom only to find the next thought was worrying whether or not Lucy was warm enough for this weather.

Susan noticed the boy look out of the window into the cold night. Susan was never one to stay attached to one thing or be sentimental about many others. But she's been away too long and sat beside Jon.

"Hey," She said in a soft voice with unusual softness and delicacy in her tone. Friends and colleagues who knew her would never have thought that she could be this kind.

"Hey." Jon replied, without much enthusiasm. Susan could hear the echoing laughter of the times they used to play together. Of the times they were still whole. She felt a strange sort of bitterness at the memory. Those happy days she spent with her lovely brother were short, but sweet. Only to be taken away by the death of their father, soon after.

Jon was always a sickly boy. Even before his heart had begun failing. As a result, he never got a chance to get out of their home much. And it was Susan's job to be the friend he needed after Peter had left for college.

Susan looked at Jon and felt the sudden rush of protectiveness she's always felt for her little brother. She wanted so desperately to run her fingers through his head and read him stories while he was tucked safely in bed. Just like she always did.

Unlike Peter and Emma, Susan had the least resemblance to her family. Her striking black hair was complimented by her dark eyes and pale complexion. Though her aunts and uncles always said she looked so much like her mother, she just couldn't see it. Whenever she peeked in her mirror the image of Susan disappeared and transformed into someone different. Someone she could not recognize.

She never got along with her mother. When they did, it was mostly with tension and shadows of shouting in the air. It was always the battle to see who was really the lady of the house. Their mother was rarely there which left Susan in charge of the household and of Jonathan and Emma. They'd have rows of endless topics which always resulted with Susan being sent to her room. Their father died and that seemed to be the final straw.

Once she was old enough to go to college, she decided to move and study law. She never looked back at Jonathan and Emma whom she left behind.

"I'm sorry," She whispered. The words tumbled out of her mouth like they were always meant to be said out loud.

Jon looked startled for a moment but it quickly receded and a small smile took its place. She missed Rick and Emma. She missed them so dearly. Living alone was hard, especially in a foreign land. And when she returned, she had no idea whether Rick would still forgive her for abandoning them.

"It's good to have you back, Susan."

Susan was too happy to feel her tears rolling down her cheeks. She placed a hand to her mouth and felt Jon pulled her into a tight hug.

"I missed you, kiddo." She whispered into his ear.

"I missed you too, Suz..." He never got to finish his sentence.

Jon gripped his chest and felt his breathing shorten. His body was burning. He tried keeping his eyes open but kept seeing flashes of fire, of the clash of iron against the form of a Ghost. He saw white spots dancing around his eyes and he could only hear the worried voices of his family like they were noises from miles and miles away.

The next he heard was a deep and frustrated sound.

"Lucy!"

**Author's Note**

**Dear, Oh dear... Ten days is an awfully long time...**

**And it seems like I'm getting nowhere in this story :( but not to worry! I've been researching on grammar and writing styles (?) so rest assured, I will make this more interesting (hopefully).**

**But enough about me. How's your day? How's school or how's summer if you don't have any school. I'm quite jet-lag and I'm missing the UK... huhuhu I didn't get to meet Benedict Cumberbatch :(((((( Okay well now I'm just ranting so I'll leave you here.**

**Don't forget: A review a day, makes the sad frowns go away :))**

**Thanks for reading~**


	9. The Ghost: Pressure

**The Agent, The Ghost And The Wardrob**e

II: The Ghost

Chapter 9

The room was in a state of utter chaos; nothing seemed to reach anybody's ears.

Lucy stood stiffly, watching through the opened door as the scene unraveled.

Nurses hurried to and fro checking vital signs, handing Emma a cookie or just simply tearing their hair out of their perfectly tight bun. One almost tripped carrying a giant blue teddy bear before setting it on a table beside Jon's bed.

The usually stone-faced nurses were close to tears, their foreheads glistening with sweat. Only Charlie calmly took Jon's hand as she checked his temperature and blood pressure.

Peter stood with his arms crossed and his eyes, which Lucy thought at first looked tired and sullen, alert and angry behind his glaring spectacles.

Three other doctors were waving their clipboards and pointing a stethoscope menacingly at one another.

A young woman, Lucy must've guess to be Jon's older sister, was staring numbly at Jon's pained face. Emma was clutching her arm with her eyes shut and mouth moving in a sort of whisper, "Please, please, please, please…"

Lucy could hear snatches of the doctor's conversation; "His heart has been in state of flux for nearly six hours now. Doctor, we need to do something!"

Peter seemed to make the decision almost instantly. Lucy thought he looked much older than he should. "Prep the patient for a surgery."

The chaos in the room was too much to take in. Mrs. Jonathan stood and everything fell silent. Even the machines' beeping quieted as if it reacted to the tension in the air. The nurses stopped in mid-motion and doctors with half-finished sentences frozen in their mouths.

Mrs. Jonathan walked with precision and complete ease even with the pressure building. She radiated the very aura of confidence and superiority. Even Lucy, whose natural instinct was to oppose anyone with such authority, found herself standing straighter and clamping her mouth shut.

"Richard will not be having any surgery," She turned her gaze towards Peter. Her terrifying gaze made the doctors stand taller and nurses primp up.

"Lucile Carlyle," She let the name fall out of her mouth. A part of Lucy wanted to retort with something cleverer but she knew that wouldn't be smart. That wasn't even her real name.

"It is unfortunate that you've found him in an awful condition as of the moment but you may not stand in the door's way and let the hot air come in. It is bad for the machines to function in hot weather."

Every word jabbed at Lucy, draining her of her strength and making her feel weaker and weaker. She felt like a bug under a microscope.

"And I want everyone else out of this room, now." She finished without missing a beat.

Lucy had no idea what exactly happened. But judging from the petrified looks on the nurses and doctors' faces, she could tell Mrs. Jonathan gave them a good reprimanding. Lucy knew she shouldn't, but she felt sorry for them. Mrs. Jonathan scolding can be pretty terrifying.

Within a minute the room was quiet once more. Everyone trickled out of the room in a rush, not wanting to be on the receiving end of another sermon.

Lucy suddenly felt self-conscious standing by the door with all eyes trained on her. Mrs. Jonathan stared at her for another minute before turning to Charlie.

In a flash, Lucy could feel a surge of pride, a rush of gratitude and whole lot of fear for the Nurse holding on to Jon's hand. Every person in the room held their breath as Mrs. Jonathan studied Charlie.

You could hear a collective gasp, as all Mrs. Jonathan did was nod and say, "Carry on." Charlie gave her a determined nod and pressed her hand against Jon's forehead.

* * *

Susan mustered up the courage to sit beside Lucy and hand her a cup of tea. It took some time, but in the end she decided to do it.

"Lucile Carlyle, I presume." She said it uncertainly at first. Susan had no idea if Lucy would respond; she looked pretty worn out. Both of them did actually.

Lucy gave her a weak smile, "It's just Lucy." Susan returned her smile and sipped her tea.

Lucy clutched a sketchpad close to her chest. They sat side by side in companionable silence as they watched the hospital corridors hum with life and death. The thought made Susan want to laugh bitterly. If we had all these technology and medicine, why couldn't we cure every damn disease in the world?

Susan would've laughed, but all that came out was a worn sigh.

"So," Lucy said after another awkward moment. "You're Jon's sister."

"And you're Jon's friend," Susan said this as if it were a question. Lucy shrugged it off and answered, "Yeah. I bumped into him; he ripped my pants and offered to pay for my clothes. And that was on his birthday." Lucy added the final thought like it was something she just remembered recently.

Susan burst out laughing. Lucy felt a slight annoyance at being laughed at, but didn't want to get another lecture. If her mother had that kind of character, she was dreading to find out if her daughter was the same.

"So... Jonathan," At the mention of the name, Susan looked to her confusedly, "Yes?"

Lucy realized her mistake and tried to back track, "Oh! Um sorry, I meant.. Jon. Ah! Rick. No, Richard! Yes.. Richard..." Susan smiled, like she new what Lucy was trying to say.

"We called Peter 'Jon' before. That was a nickname our father gave him. But once he was starting college, he decided to pass his name to Jon. Oops, that's Rick. And so he's been known as 'Jon' since birth."

Susan could read Lucy's questions like a book, "What's wrong with Jonathan?" Lucy did everything she could from looking eager but she knew she failed as Susan gave her a kind smile and continued, "I can't tell you, exactly what his condition is – as I've been thrown out of the room like you – but it all started in this cottage where we used to stay as kids." Susan smiled fondly at the memory.

"It was a lovely place. I had lots of fun there. We called it–"

"Domus Ignis." Lucy finished. Susan turned to her with a questioning look.

"Yes… Well when we visited again, Jon started bleeding. It's always dangerous when he gets cut. That time was even more so. After that, he got sick and these Problems kept stacking up. Mother has no idea what to do with the house. But she can't very well sell the land if there's a Ghost infesting it."

"No," Lucy said. "Not _a _ghost."

Lucy stood up, "Twelve ghosts..."

* * *

"Lucy, look! He's coming around." Emma tugged at Lucy's hand and jumped on the bed.

"Emma get off, you might disturb him." Peter sighed as he pushed his glasses up. Emma stuck her tongue out at him.

"Emma get off, you might disturb him." Mrs. Jonathan chided lightly. Lucy froze at the sound of her voice. But Emma happily skipped up to her mother and gave a tight hug.

Jon stirred and everyone around the bed inched closer.

"Is he going to wake up soon?" Lucy asked. And as soon as she did, she wished she could take it back. Mrs. Jonathan looked at her. Just as Lucy thought she was going to be sent out, the weary mother gave her a smile and said, "We'll see."

Jon slowly woke up. It took sometime for him to blink the glaring light out of his eyes. But once they refocused, he could only smile at the sight held before him.

Six faces with worried expressions melted at the sight of the boy who lived to see another sunrise. Charlie let out a small cry of joy. Peter sighed, it looked like the burden of the sky was lifted upon him. Emma embraced Jon who still had an oxygen mask strapped to him. It was like a light switched on and life began starting again.

Lucy was deciding whether or not to punch Jon in front of his mother and also fighting the urge to give him a good squeeze at the same time.

The celebration was short. Mostly consisting of Emma trying not to let go of Jon and Peter fussing over her.

Several nurses came to take Mrs. Jonathan's blood pressure or to set down expensive looking tea and cookies from Harrods'. Doctors were nowhere in sight and Mrs. Jonathan looked happy. (Or calm and serene, as Lucy put it.)

Time passed with Emma telling her heroic tale of how she saved a boy from her class from a Ghost, which turned out to be a cat in the bushes. And much time spent with catching up on Peter and the Jonathan's part.

Susan sat in her chair beside Jon's bed, nodding politely and smiling whenever Emma made a joke or told a funny story. Mrs. Jonathan sipped her tea and chatted with Peter.

Once in a while, all heads turned towards Emma again who went to tell another story of the time she got lost with her friends in the London Underground. Mrs. Jonathan was surprisingly gracious towards Lucy and pleasant to everyone who entered the room. But otherwise, it was like Susan was a complete stranger to her.

It was not the first time Lucy noticed the strange disagreement with the mother and daughter. But everything seemed otherwise completely normal for the Jonathans in their small hospital room with Jonathan sitting upright in his medical bed.

* * *

I would just like to point out several oddities that happened before I left on the day before Christmas.

Exhibit A being:

"Lucile," Mrs. Jonathan called out before I was even halfway out of the door. I cringed inwardly and silently cursed at the chill running down my spine. This was just Mrs. Jonathan, the richest lady in the whole of London (next to the Queen). There was nothing to be afraid of.

All the same, I stiffened and turned to face her slowly.

"Ma'am?" And the ranting begins.

"Lucile Carlyle. Stand up straight. Don't slouch. It's unbecoming of a lady. Fix your hair and dust those crumbs from your skirt. Appearances are important." She could've dragged on and the rest of the 24th would've been wasted. But she was forgiving and the sermon passed by quicker than I thought.

"As a president of the MedTech Institute, I wanted to personally thank you for visiting one of our patients. It is our duty to call friends or family of the patient to inform them. No doubt, you must've received the phone call from one of the nurses informing you of his condition. But as a mother, I thank you for being a friend to Richard."

She bowed and kissed me on the cheek. My face was flaring and I could feel my mind draw a blank. Nothing was processing and I could already see George snickering behind my back. Oh yeah… They're not here.

"And Ms. Carlyle," "Yes?" I whirled around, replying all too quickly. She did the most impossible thing I could've dreamed of at this point.

Mrs. Jonathan smiled and said, "You can call me Sheila."

* * *

Now this isn't important, but I feel a need to explain this one thing.

Jon held me back just after we had a small chat. Mrs. Jonathan was taking a phone call; Peter was making arrangements with the other staff members. Susan was talking to Emma and playing with her dolls. Susan looked happy, which somewhat made me happy as well.

Before I went to gather my belongings, he whispered in my ears, "Lucy, the Problem can wait," I almost jumped in outrage. You don't just delay a Problem like that!

As I said so, all Jon did was smile and continue patiently, "You didn't let me finish." (At least I had the decency to feel ashamed.) "The Problem can wait until after Christmas. Oh and here you go." He slipped something in my hands as he let me go.

I probably looked like an idiot grinning to myself. The yellow ribbon was soft and silky. If water and air could be sewn and threaded, this is what it would feel like.

Normally, I avoided putting ornaments on my hair (They don't do well on a mission. Mostly, they just get in the way.) But it did feel nice to receive a present on Christmas.

I guess in all the madness of the day, I forgot to mention anything about the sketchpad or the sketch itself because I found my arms empty of it on my way home. Too late to turn back now. And I will not repeat this again for the lack of maturity displayed in the action, but all thoughts of the case completely slipped my mind. Sighing, I rang the doorbell to 35 Portland Row and leaned on the wall for support.

And the day wasn't even over.

**Author's Note**

**HulloOooooooOOOoooOoOOOooOoooOoooOOoOOOoOOOOooo**

**WELL! I'm getting slow~ A whole week since an update? Why, AA? Why?**

**So this is about all I could gather. Because I'm getting sad with the lack of Lockwood and Co books Jonathan Stroud has written. And I'm just struggling to get by with the day. Cus you know... Summer is really really REALLy hot.**

**But enough about me. you can PM me or DM what ever M you want. If you need someone to talk to, you can talk to me! A complete stranger~ Weeee**

**okay so bye now**

**Thanks for reading :)**


	10. The Ghost: Angel's Song

**The Agent, The Ghost And The Wardrob**e

II: The Ghost

Chapter 10

It was quite a shock when George and I saw Lucy greet us from the door.

George was so sure that Lucy was sound asleep in her room. Neither of us were willing to check if she was awake. We've walked in on her sleeping several times. And let me tell you, it was not pleasant. In none of those incidents did we walk out without a cut or a bruise.

When we opened the door, I almost tackled her to the ground. But judging from the awkward air weighing George and Lucy down, I decided against this. And a quick exchange of stories came.

Lucy fidgeted a yellow ribbon looking thing while she told us that the Jonathans called and asked her to come over. The story itself wasn't suspicious. After all, Jon had become sort of a friend to Lucy and I don't mind her going out on her own. It wasn't like we were on duty.

But she's been tired lately and the mission last night almost put her in danger. _Again_. Also there was still the look on her face- so poorly concealed- that told me she was hiding something important. I didn't push it and only nodded which made George look at me like I've grown another head.

I almost laughed at that.

Well after a long pause, she looked at the fireplace and her face lit up. Even George couldn't help it. It was kind of her to finally notice our efforts.

"It's lovely!" She rushed towards the small Christmas tree.

When George brought it up from storage, it was dingy, dusty and downright un-Christmasy. I suspected this must've been a Source of a dozen rats and cockroaches. But we gave it a good cleaning, set it up and look at that: good as new.

I found my old decorations I used to adore at as a kid and spent majority of the morning polishing and putting them together. If I closed my eyes and listened hard enough, I could hear the echoes of Christmases I celebrated in the walls of this house. Every fond memory of drinking hot chocolate by the fire, bundling up in a blanket when the weather became too cold, or even the simplest joy of opening a present in the morning.

All my collected memories sat in a neat box beside the bare tree, ready to be strung around.

Lucy is walked around the Christmas tree like a little kid excited for the biggest toy in the whole world. She looked like a giant next to the small tree, only reaching her shoulders.

"We hoped you'd like it." I smiled, finally happy to see her smiling for a change.

Lucy stopped in her tracks as if deep in thought and I frowned.

"Problem?" George asked, raising an eyebrow.

Suddenly, another brilliant smile broke out and I felt my heart flutter carelessly in my chest.

"Let's celebrate!" Lucy exclaimed.

* * *

I shook my head and smiled to myself as I strung the LED lights up around the handrails. It seemed that with all the madness going on and Ghosts haunting the whole of London, we'd forgotten about Christmas.

Okay, so George and I usually had Christmas decorations set up _after_ Christmas Eve (Hey! Better late than never.), but we'd been stressed lately and I think everyone's been on edge. But once again, Lucy has managed to amaze me with her ideas.

She was the one who thought to put up the lights around the house. She was the one who ordered George to start cooking dinner at 2 in the afternoon. She was the one who volunteered to go shopping for all the last minute party things that George wanted her to get.

And I think George would never admit it, but he liked the idea of a Christmas dinner with a party, games and all. And I would always admit it – even out loud – I liked having Lucy around.

Well that's basically how I found myself dusting out my ancient artifacts and mopping up the floors at six in the evening, just about time when Lucy should be getting back.

I looked at my handiwork and nodded as I inspected the spotless sitting room. The red, blue and green lights glistened brightly and the room felt warm with the cool fire cackling in the fireplace.

On our vintage record player, I found a sweet and jolly holiday tune float up to my ears. George found my father's old records from a closet in the library.

Thoughts of mother's perfume or father's smoke and piper unconsciously made its way into my head. I could feel my mother's soft hands hold mine and hear my father's hearty laugh as I told them a joke I heard from school the other day. I can't remember what joke it was, only that my father laughed so hard that he held me and spun me around the room so fast the world blurred and the music melted with the fire and lights.

I let the memories flood back and wash away with the smell of the food George cooked from the kitchen. My nose couldn't resist and my stomach protested in agony. I led myself away from the sitting room and found a feast on our table.

George was just finishing final touches with the candle and places set for three. He grinned and wiped a bead of sweat from his forehead.

"So?" He gestured to the glittering array of roast beefs and chickens. I could almost taste the buttery croissant and warm mashed potato. Not a minute later, I felt my mouth watering and my stomach growling.

I gulped down my patience and the growing need to eat now, "It's beautiful."

George gave a satisfied nod and that's how I knew he was pleased with himself. Not even a master chef could whip up a feast this delicious in under three hours. Speaking of which, the evening came pretty early.

I told this to George and we both looked out of the kitchen window.

"Don't you think?" I said. George grunted and took off his frilly pink apron. A while back, Lucy and I laughed at his choice of kitchen equipment. The thought made me smile a little.

"It's snowing." He said. And indeed it was. Snow fell to the ground like a leaf does in autumn.

"My father used to tell me stories," I said. George looked at me questioningly.

"Before Ghosts, he used to tell me that angels used snowflakes to drift down from the heavens and find the lost souls of the dead so that they didn't have to roam the earth alone and cold." I looked into the dark and cold night as a snowflake winked by our window.

"I, of course being the kid I was, believed it. And always prayed that Ghosts wouldn't feel lonely because they had the Angels keeping them company that night." I laughed but it was short and died with the soft music.

George looked out into the night with me but I wondered if he too saw the same glowing lights that fell from the sky. I wondered if he saw angels that sang as they drifted into the earth, the same way I did. I listened into the night and I could hear their songs whispering to the wind and that was the lullaby putting me to sleep as the nights wore on.

The door creaked open and Lucy's grin filled the room like a warm sunrise. I moved forward to help her carry the bags she held in both hands. She shook her head and snow sprayed across floor.

"Hey! Watch it," I chided. "I spent the whole afternoon cleaning that very spot you're standing on."

"Ahh we wouldn't want all your hard efforts to be put to waste, now would we?" Lucy could read the grin on my face and returned the smile. We stood there smiling to each other, not knowing what to do next.

George huffed and carried the things away. "If you ladies would like to follow me, we can finally get this Christmas party started?"

That seemed to be a good enough excuse and I turned away first, coughing into my fists. I took hold of the bags and I could already see Lucy's glowing face as we entered the kitchen.

Seeing it for the second time only made me love it even more.

Dinner was lively with stories and food passing to and fro. The three of us sat closely with hands extended to reach for the butter or to pour another glass of champagne for another. Lucy nearly fell laughing from a story George told about the time he dropped a spider and how Quill Kipps' started screaming like a girl.

I ate with my friends and a grin that never really left my face the entire time.

* * *

"No. No. No. No. No." Lucy marched over to slap a red orb away from George's hands. "Don't put that there! You should put the red balls far from the blue ones." George's vein seemed to throb and I knew it would be wise to intervene sooner rather than later.

"Well I'm telling you, the red orbs look much better next to the blue!" George snapped.

"Hey now, you two are acting like a bunch of pansies fighting over a Barbie doll." I tried calming them down. But... "And you!" Lucy turned to me.

"Don't put the ballerina next to the nutcracker! Put her next to the toy giraffe!" Lucy rushed over to take the porcelain figure away from me. Her fingers brushed mine and I felt my cheeks go red. Luckily, the bright fire hid the blush and I silently thanked the flames. George nodded and held up a miniature version of our rapiers.

"Where did you get these cool decorations?" George asked. All I could give was a sly grin and continued helping Lucy arrange the tree.

* * *

George and I dropped on the sofa, exhausted. We gazed at the sparkling tree that Lucy fussed over for nearly an hour.

"How the bloody hell did she have the right to boss us around like that?" George sighed, pulling his legs to rest them on the table. I merely shrugged my shoulders.

True, it was a bit tiring but I couldn't deny that she had an amazing taste for designing Christmas trees. I felt my cheeks widen to another grin as Lucy walked in with a tray of tea and cookies in her hands.

"Ahh excellent! Thank you, Lucy." I sat up straighter and rubbed my palms as she poured a cup for herself and passed the cookies around.

We spent a silent minute just simply staring into the fire. The music was enchanting and it had us under its soft spell. A thin mist seemed to settle in the room, taking over everyone.

"Lucy," The words slurred out of my mouth like running water. I couldn't make them stop.

"I'm sorry." I was about to say, but George beat me to it. "I didn't mean to say you weren't part of the team. In fact, you're the most important..." I looked to the pudgy blonde boy who was struggling to get the words out... Or keep the words in, rather.

"... The most important... Assistant we've had in a long time." I sighed wondering why George just wouldn't confess now. He loved having Lucy around. And we both knew it.

"George, honestly? But yes, Lucy. You're an important assistant. No, an important friend. I don't think George or I could've survived a single mission without you there. We're sorry if you think you're inferior. And we can tell you that you're not. So please don't think of transferring to the Fittes' now!" I pleaded with her.

Through misted eyes, I could see Lucy's shocked face and I could only hope that she takes me seriously.

I wanted to have more Christmases with her. I wanted to make more memories with my friends. And I am so sure that Lockwood and Co is only the beginning of what it can become.

"Lucy, I–" Lucy blinked a few times as if to hold back tears. I suddenly found it hard to look into her eyes. "I–"

But the track ended and so did the spell. And a numb silence filled the room.

A few minutes or so passed before Lucy jumped to her feet. The both of us looked to her. Even George looked a bit dazed at first. "Come along, you two! No sleeping yet," She walked over to the Christmas tree.

When she returned, two enormous bows topped two colorfully wrapped boxes. She held out both of them for us.

"This ones for you," She set a blue and gray box onto George's lap, "And here's yours." and a green and silver one on mine.

I opened it under Lucy's expectant grin and nervously lifted the lid. An audible gasp escaped my lips and I could tell George was just as stupefied about his' as I was about mine.

In it was a brand new copy of the updated _Fittes' Ghost Hunting Manual_. I had been dying to get my hands on one since they released it weeks ago. I ran my hands along the cover and watched the silver rimmed edges flutter past my fingertips.

This one had secret pages from Maria's journal and a foreword by Maria Fittes' granddaughter, Penelope Fittes. I turned a page to the first, expecting it to be blank and clean. Imagine my surprise as I find a scribbled signature waiting for me there.

I could only look at Lucy stupidly. Surely a dumb look spread across my face as she giggled and nodded eagerly. "Yes, Lockwood. That's her real signature."

"No way." I mouthed. Then I realized that I did not say it out loud. But when it came out, it was more of a squeak than a shout.

Lucy laughed again and I was pretty sure the angels' songs were visiting us early that night.

"Lucy!" I don't know what came over me but the next thing I knew, Lucy was gasping for breath trying to get me to loosen my grip. She smelled like those cinnamon rolls she had for dessert and bunches of lavender she hung around the house. She smelled nice.

"Oh no way!" Lucy was roughly pulled away from me.

"Lucy this is amazing! For someone who rarely picks a book up, you have great taste in them." George grinned and put an arm around Lucy, who mimicked his wide smile.

Lucy laughed.

"You two, idiots." She said softly. George and I looked at each other with worried expressions. But Lucy only pulled us in a tight hug.

"I would never leave you," She whispered in our ears. I could feel my ears turn bright pink.

"So you're _not _transferring?" George asked.

Lucy pulled away and I immediately found the air colder and nippier than last I checked. "Why the bloody hell would I want to transfer now?!" Lucy screamed in our faces.

All three of us immediately burst out laughing. In the midst of the cheers and giggles, George handed Lucy our present we've been dying to give her.

Lucy opened the long, thin box and we watched as tears trailed down her brand new silver rapier.

Lucy cried and our laughter was soon joined with tears and lots of hugging.

* * *

After what seemed like forever, we settled in our respective makeshift sleeping bags.

Lucy had a brilliant idea to bring our blankets and pillows so we could sleep next to the fireplace. (Our heater broke down this morning.) And it took some time, but George eventually agreed.

She snuggled in comfortably, wrapping the comforter around her. I stared happily up at the ceiling replaying this moment again and again, making sure every detail is perfect.

"We wanted to make sure that you didn't get into an accident," George continued. We decided to come clean with everything and so we started from the top. Starting from when Lucy locked herself in the burning room.

"The doctor warned us of your dizzy spells since you haven't been used to the city air." Lucy nodded, I guess she already knew that much. It still felt good to say it aloud.

"What have you been doing then, Lucy?" I looked to her.

Lucy pursed her lips as if preparing how to answer, "I've been to MedTech... I want to solve the Domus Ignis case. I really want to help Jon and I have a feeling about this one. I'm sorry if I've been doing this behind your backs!" She said quickly. George and I stirred, our muscles tense.

After while, I decided to let it go. I sighed, "Lucy," and gave her a smile.

"If you want to take this case on, then we won't stop you." George nodded in agreement. "And we'll be there to help. We're your friends Lucy. We'll always have your back." Lucy's head turned to hide her misty eyes. I smiled to myself and gave a thumbs up to George.

A minute later, George's loud snoring echoed in the warm house.

Lucy giggled and whispered, "Good night, boys."

"Good night to you too, Lucy. May their songs guard us in our sleep and bless us with wonderful dreams." I whispered back. I can't remember where I got that from but I closed my eyes and swore I could hear Angels singing, echoing in the snowy night.

**Author's Note**

**Hello! I officially turned fifteen 13 hours ago. I think? **

**So I wouldn't want to bore you with my boring life story. But if you ever want to chat, just dm or pm or whatever m, me. Anywayyyyy! I'm really excited for the Blood of Olympus cover :(((((( and for the last book in the Mortal Instruments series huhuhuhu**

**This is sad. I don't want anything to end :'((((**

**OKay well summer is about to end and I haven't started my summer homework. (It sucks to have homework during summer T^T)**

**And I'm sorry if this is super late! But I've been having a bit of a writer's block. **

**So thanks for reading! And don't forget to review 3**


	11. The Ghost: Playing Cinderella

**The Agent, The Ghost And The Wardrob****e**

II: The Ghost

Chapter 11

_6:48 PM December 25__th _

I checked the intricately designed mirror making sure everything was in place. Lifting the silky purple fabric to secure my salt bombs and iron fillings tied to my waist, I looked again and realized something important.

For a brief moment, I actually _honestly_ believed Susan's strange whispered words after which she fastened a simple silver necklace around my neck. Even Jon smiled, which made my cheeks flare like bright red Christmas fires: I seriously think purple really did bring my eyes out.

I smiled and twirled a full 360 degrees, enjoying the light feeling without the usual jeans and cardigan weighing me down. So this was how Cinderella must've felt... Well, McKenzie was no fairy godmother but he certainly substituted for today.

McKenzie- their American make-up artist- added a bit of whatever it is you use to conceal things, to conceal the thin scar (which- I must say- hasn't improved since the night that started this all).

I brought my face closer to the smooth mirrored surface and lightly ran my fingers over the area where the scar should've been. I looked with a critic's eye to point out my numerous flaws covered with a stroke of the brush. _Like real magic..._ I thought.

Initially, I refused to wear any amount of make-up but Lockwood and George convinced me that we needed to blend in with the crowd if this mission was to succeed. So I sighed and braced myself as McKenzie worked his magic. And I must've been his hardest project yet because he left with runny mascara and an added bonus to his check.

A cough coming from the door sent me to my feet, straightening my dress and already perfected hair. I prepared to give an apology speech I've been practicing in case I've been caught but it was only George. My prim and proper smile changed into a scowl that I knew would _not_ look good with this dress.

George raised his hands to the air as if to surrender. "Whoa, Lucy. I haven't said a word."

But I scoffed, "I could see the insults forming in your head." I crossed my arms in a sort of ward against him, hoping he'd get the message to leave me alone. But that, apparently, was too much to wish for. Even on Christmas.

George stepped into the room filled with furniture much too expensive for my taste. The fire was warm as the wind outside howled.

I watched his deliberate movements as he made his way to the tall window, "Must be freezing outside." He said. _Was this him trying to make conversation?_

I was befuddled for a moment, wondering where this small talk suddenly came from. But the chance to make fun of him wouldn't pass by so easily.

"Now what's with this well-mannered George?" I stepped closer towards him with a sly grin on my face, "Just put on a suit on him and he behaves like a true gentleman? I have to say, I do miss the old one." And faked a sigh.

George mouth formed a shape of an 'O' as if to make a snappy comeback. I thought for once that I'd have one over him but it just wasn't my day.

He did look like a true gentleman though. In a crisp black suit and his blonde hair brushed, combed and carefully styled. He let go of his spectacles in case one of the officers might recognize him. His eyes polished his flabby fatty edges, actually making him look sharper and more commanding. Now I knew he always had blue eyes, but this was the first time I've actually fully acknowledged the fact. In the short period that I've known him, he _never _went out without his glasses. _Ever._

He glanced at me up and down and clicked his tongue like I was some disappointing meatloaf. "And I thought that make-up and dresses made girls look prettier."

It was my turn to form an 'O' wider than his. I was about to retort and with my heels, I'd be a whole lot taller than him. But he only put his finger to my mouth and said, "Now, now. We wouldn't want all that make-up to go to waste, now would we?"

In one smooth motion, he picked the iron chain from the vanity, wrapped it around his waist and offered his arm to me. I gave a sound that was somewhere in between irritation and dejection.

_Why did I have to play the escort of George?_

But Lockwood would be waiting at the ball for George and I; the Christmas Party for the elite companies of England would be starting soon. I took George's outstretched arm and decided that next time, I would be the one wearing the chain around my waist.

* * *

_Earlier on..._

I guess buses weren't popular during Christmas.

The bus was practically empty even with the streets and shops filled with dozens of people. (Or maybe it was just ours.) The street seemed to blend with the sidewalk, people and bicyclists everywhere.

I ran the plan over and over my head again. When Lockwood said that he would take the case on, I felt like the weights slowly crushing me were finally lifted off. Lockwood and George were silent as well. Both contemplating what little I found in my search. The library was closed for Christmas, which meant that we would have to wait 'till tomorrow for the articles and records we needed.

George shot me a look that said, _You were stupid enough to forget to check who died in that house? _I responded less creatively, only sticking my tongue out.

To be honest, I didn't want to open the records. I always asked for them whenever I went to the library. But I never got past Mr. Jonathan's death. Pain and ache gripped my heart so tightly that tears blurred my vision before I got to flip the next page. In simpler words: I wasn't strong enough to read the gruesome stories.

Instead, we were off to MedTech in hopes to gather more information from the Jonathans. We debated and wondered if spoiling their Christmas would be such a good idea. But a phone call came from Jon wishing us Merry Christmas and I decided to put on my brave voice and ask if we could come over. Luckily, Mrs. Jonathan- er, I mean Ms. Sheila would be out; that meant privacy and discretion.

As we hopped off the bus, I inwardly let out a relieved sigh upon the sight of Emma's perfectly curled hair. She came up to meet us, bouncing in her red velvet cape. A quick exchange of 'Merry Christmas' came and Emma took hold of Lockwood's hand, guiding us deeper into the hospital.

Nurse Charlie greeted us just as we were about to enter, "Merry Christmas, Lucy and Lucy's friends!"

"And a Happy New Year to you!" I smiled.

"What brings you to MedTech? I know most people would avoid the hospital, especially during the Holidays." She asked with a puzzled expression.

I almost slipped up. Luckily, Lockwood covered it up with a dazzling smile. I was nice to finally have your friends back.

"We were just coming to visit Jon," I suppose not even Nurse Charlie was immune to his smile. She nodded and opened the door, letting us enter first.

Emma carried on, dragging Lockwood behind her. I grinned with a knowing smile as George entered muttering, "Prick..".

Jon definitely was surprised to see us come this early. The smile on my face quickly melted upon the sight of his worried frown.

"Jon?" I started. But Emma's smiling face filled my vision and I was immediately spun around the room. At some point, Emma had let go but I continued twirling around until the world was a blur of spinning colors.

Susan laughed as she greeted us a Merry Christmas. Lockwood and George introduced themselves and Nurse Charlie leaned to support me before I fell onto the carpeted floor.

It seemed that Susan, Emma and Jon were the only one's who stayed for the Holidays.

"Peter and Mother are in a meeting, you see." Susan smiled apologetically as she pushed a plate of biscuits towards us. George rubbed his hands but Emma beat him to it as she grabbed them and took off to watch some telly. George glared at her direction but she never turned once to acknowledge him.

I hid a snicker but I saw Emma hand a dispirited looking Jon a cookie and my smile faded. _What was wrong with him?_

"Mother and Peter are to attend a party for Agents of all the well-known companies. I'm afraid their schedule is full for today."

Lockwood only nodded in understanding, "I guess we'll have to come back tomorrow." He stood and began to thank Susan. George and I followed, though George was more reluctant as he hasn't had the chance to touch his tea.

"Susan! I don't want to go to the party. That awful Lucinda's going to be there, isn't she?" Emma whined.

"I'm sorry Emma. We have to. How would that look if only Peter arrived?" Susan bent down to look Emma in the eye.

Lucinda… The very name sent shivers down my spine.

"Lucinda Miller?!" George and I looked to Lockwood with questioning looks. A million thoughts seemed to jam in my head, making me unable to grasp anything clearly.

"Not that lady with the fake lashes!" George huffed.

"How do you know, Lucinda?" Susan looked at us suspiciously. Surely that couldn't be the _same_ Lucinda. There were dozens of Millers in England!

"Blonde hair that looks like a cotton candy machine spat her out?" Emma asked. Lockwood only nodded.

George and Emma burst out laughing. Even Susan couldn't help smiling.

"But Lockwood," I turned to see him deep in thought. "I don't see how this could help."

"Mrs. Miller is an old friend of Mother's. She was the interior decorator of our cottage and we always ask her to clean out our furniture and antiques." Susan said, still not understanding our part of the story.

"And she hired us for a mission a few days back. There were a couple of Ghosts haunting her attic and she called Lockwood and Co. to fix the Problem." I could see George getting the picture, even Jon was inching closer to hear more.

"But _I _don't see…" I began, but George cut me off, "And Lucinda visited asking us to finish the job as Lucy didn't seal the Ghost properly."

Even Emma was getting the picture. I groaned in frustration. Susan nodded and said, "We need to get you to that party."

* * *

"But I still don't see why we have to gate crash!" I furiously whispered to George as another couple turned the corner.

George sighed as an employee in a black and white suit passed by, "Mrs. Miller is an old friend of Mrs. Jonathan. She was also our client on that fateful day you decided to lock yourself in the room."

"I told you it was the Ghost!" I made a move to stomp his foot with the heel of my shoe.

"Oww!" He glared at me but I continued looking straight ahead with a satisfied smile on my face.

"Continue!" I was about to say, but the grand double doors swung forward and we entered a completely different era. I guess Cinderella would've been overwhelmed on her first party as well.

Ladies clung to their escorts with silver and iron jewelry glinting in the light. Agents strode past with polished rapiers hanging from their waists. I could bet you everything I own that every Agent here hasn't been on the field for a long time. Well, every Agent except for Lockwood and Co. The violins were soft enough for George and I to talk properly but upbeat enough to set several couples dancing in the center of the enormous hall.

Everywhere I turned, a whiff of Jasmine caught me by surprise which- now that I think about it- shouldn't be so surprising anymore. No doubt the walls and tall ceilings were lined with pure iron to keep unwanted Visitors out. I had to laugh at that.

The very atmosphere of the room was enough to take me by surprise yet George didn't look the least bit intimidated. The look I must've been giving him was one of disbelief as he only smirked and said, "I'm too used to these sort of things."

Before I even had the chance to make sense of his words, a hand grabbed my shoulder and I spun around.

"Lucy! You finally arrived!" Lockwood paused for an awkward minute, and I worried quite a bit; unsure of whether or not he'd like the make-up. Well- wait! Why was I the one to worry? He and George were the very reason I had to wear these bloody heels in the first place.

But in the end, Lockwood let out a wide grin and I felt that hey, maybe dressing up this once wouldn't be so bad after all!

I could see George roll his eyes out the corner of mine.

* * *

"So basically, we split up; find Mrs. Miller and question her in a way without looking like those three urchins she hired off from the street." George said with an air of finality.

Lockwood sighed which made me want to smack George in the head, "Must you put it like that? Well yes. It goes without saying. If she realizes that we're who we are then she'll have us thrown out in an instant. Oh- and steer clear of Mrs. Jonathan and Peter."

With that I was left to scour the other end of the gigantic hall alone.

I could barely hear Lockwood's warning as he faded with the crowd. "Don't forget! We have until midnight to gather all we can from Mrs. Miller!"

Another song passed by and I realized the night growing warmer and warmer. I could spot George holding a plate and trying to grab as much doughnuts as he could with his mouth. Lockwood's deep blue suit stood out. He too wore a chain around his waist. It was a fashion among men nowadays but it was also for protection in case a Ghost pops up out of nowhere. (Hopefully, that won't have to happen on Christmas.) It looked awful on some chubby blonde boys but suited Lockwood perfectly.

He was doing remarkably well with a crowd of girls who were chatting him up. The sight made a small ball of fury erupt from my stomach and I looked away to try and drown the feeling.

I saw her sitting alone with a bottle of champagne in her grasp.

"Hello, Mrs. Miller?" I sat beside her tentatively.

"Huh?" She grunted and looked at me like I was the most uninteresting gum on the sole of her shoe. Her wrinkled face was thick with powder. She reminded me of the great-aunt Helen who lived in our village. She did _love _powder.

"Who the bloody hell are you?" She spat out, before taking another swing of the bottle. I felt bad for it.

Instead of walking away with a disgusted look on my face, I smiled pleasantly and said, "I heard you were a great interior designer! The one who arranged Domus Ignis, isn't it?" Anyone passing by could obviously hear the forced interest in my voice but I didn't need to fool a sober woman right now.

"Oh yes! Nice to see someone finally taking an appreciative action to my works." And another swing from the bottle and I might've slapped it away. This reminded me of the pointless conversations with my father. You could smell the alcohol radiating off this woman a mile away.

Putting on my brave face (Which wasn't too far from looking repulsed) I tried again, "Do you happen to know of the pieces of furniture Mrs. Jonathan asked you to clean a few days ago?"

"Eh?" She looked at me suspiciously and I panicked for a brief second.

"Well- uh.. I mean, she's a good friend of mine and I was just wondering so I would know when to clean my own- things..." I mentally slapped myself. There's no way she would buy that.

"Oh, I see." She hiccupped. "Well there's the usual. She wanted them cleaned out you see, after they visited about a month ago. Mahogany does _not_ look good unless you give it a good polishing every now and then." I had no idea what she was talking about. And in times like these, the only thing you had to do was nod.

"So there were six pieces of vases. Three sets of tables and chairs. All of their silverware. Can you believe the nerve? Even their bleeding silverware. Couldn't they hire a couple of maggots! With the money they've got, they could buy the whole of England in an instant." And she gasped like it was such a scandalous thought. I realized I was liking Mrs. Miller less and less by the minute.

"And there were some book shelves and this big arse wardrobe with a broken mirror inside it. Also a chandelier with about a hundred different crystals hanging from them. Do you know how much man-hours it would take to-"

"Wait!" I exclaimed, cutting her off. "Shut up a minute! What was that about the wardrobe?"

"Are you deaf, girl? I said it had a broken mirror. But ohh you can't imagine the smell. Even my toughest workers paled at the very sight of it. They say they get a bad feeling about it."

"A bad feeling…" I echoed.

"Yeah, now about that chandelier…" She was about to begin but a sinking feeling took hold of my gut and I realized I was putting pieces of the puzzles together without even trying.

The orchestra melted with the old hag's drunk ranting. I couldn't remember thanking her and pardoning myself from the empty table. But I moved through the crowd still lost in my own thoughts.

A chime from the bells came and I realized it was already midnight. It was as if I were in a trance. The spell would be almost over.

I looked up to see a mass of bodies pushing me around and I stumbled forward blindly. These heels made it harder to navigate with the crowd and I was so sure I would've sprained my ankle if not for Lockwood who caught me in time.

"Lockwood! I found her! Mrs. Jonathan sent the wardrobe to get it cleaned and I think I-" I was breathing heavily, wondering how my chest was still holding up when my head was feeling so light.

"It's okay Lucy. George and I were standing by and we heard everything. As of now, George is finishing the conversation you had; so we can relax and enjoy the rest of the night!" I knew his smile would've been enough to comfort me but I still wasn't done.

"But what about 'till midnight?" I asked.

Lockwood's smile widened (if that were still humanly possible), "Mrs. Miller usually passes out at midnight so it was a good thing we caught her at just the right time!"

I blinked a few times and wondered how unbearably obvious this was becoming. I looked at my glittering heels with my cheeks catching fire. Lockwood's hearty laugh made me blush harder.

"You did great, Lucy. Job well done, I'd say."

The blush turned crimson red and I felt a surge of pride for finally getting something right. Well I guess Cinderella can stay up past midnight, just this once.

**Author's Note**

**I must apologize! I have been trying very hard to get some writing done! But I have this stupid summer homework and I haven't even started on _that _either. Well I can't make up excuses. I guess my creative juices were running out.**

**Also! I was thinking about this Doctor Who and Lockwood and Co Crossover! If you'd like *Shamelessly promotes* you can come read it! The title is Agent Who!**

**So I hope you enjoyed this chapter. I will try so very hard. It won't be long now! Almost getting there!**

**Thanks a lot and don't forget: I like reviews :3**


End file.
